UC-NRLF 


$B    2T    227 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/dewdropsOOpennricf 


BY    D.    S.    PENNELL. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
Printed  by  William  H.  Pile's  Sons. 


1894. 


PREFACE 


In  again  presenting  this  little  volume  to  the  public, 
the  author  desires  gratefully  to  acknowledge  the  many 
kind  and  appreciative  words,  that,  since  its  former  ap- 
pearance, have  reached  her  from  time  to  time,  and 
which  have  been  the  stimulus  and  encouragement  in 
issuing  a  second  edition,  in  the  hope  that  it  may  still 
have  a  humble  mission  to  interest  and  cheer. 


M191882 


CONTENTS 


To  THE  Dew-Drop, 

• 

PACK. 

9 

Lines,  for  Class  of  W. 

B.  S.,        . 

II 

The  Better  Part, 

. 

15 

Gone, 

. 

18 

Mysteries,  . 

. 

20 

Under  the  Willows, 

. 

25 

Faint  Yet  Pursuing, 

. 

28 

Musings, 

. 

33 

Change, 

. 

36 

Autumnal  Thoughts, 

. 

39 

Spring  Breathings, 

. 

43 

To  E.  S.  in  Affliction, 

. 

47 

Lines  ;  When  to  Visit 

IN  THE  Country,     . 

50 

The  Woodland  Path, 

. 

53 

Life's  Changes,    . 

. 

55 

Nepenthe, 

59 

The  Song  of  the  Sunbeam, 

63 

Another  Year, 

. 

67 

CONTENTS 


"Am  I  My  Brother's  Keeper?" 
Rainy  Days,      ..... 
Parting,       ..... 
My  Childhood's  Home, 
Morning,     ..... 
Our  Hills,        ..... 
Lines,  on  Senator  Rev^el's  Speech,  . 
Indian  Summer,  .... 

Drifting,     ..... 
To  the  Memory  of  Charles  Evans, 
Our  Birthright,  .... 
Lines,  on  Reading  Marriage  Certificate, 
Blossoms,     ..... 
Our  Meeting,  ..... 
A  Memory,  .... 

One  Year  Ago,  .... 

By  the  Sea,  .... 

The  Cricket's  Song, 
Birthday  Lines  to  a  Friend,  . 
Thanksgiving,  ..... 
Sunrise  and  Sunset, 
Questionings,  ..... 
To  the  Memory  of  our  Beloved  Friend,  L 
The  Pathway  in  the  Sky, 


W.S. 


PAGE. 
70 

72 

75 
78 
82 
84 
•86 
88 
90 
93 
95 
97 
100 
102 

105 
108 
no 
114 
117 
120 
122 
124 
128 
130 


DEW-Dl^OFS. 

TO    THE    DEW-DROP. 

fP  I  R  I  T  of  beauty  !  that  with  radiant  beam, 
Hangest  a  pendant  on  yon  blade  of  grass, 
My  heart  rejoices  in  thy  silvery  gleam, 

And  wafts  its  homage  to  thee  as  I  pass  ; 
Frailest  yet  purest  of  the  works  that  teem 

The  wide  world  over  in  one  boundless  mass — 
Works  that  speak  ever  in  the  praise  of  Him, 
Beside  whose  glory,  noonday's  glare  were  dim. 

Not  when  the  light  of  day  was  over  earth, 
Began  thy  brilliant,  brief  existence  here  ; 

Nor  yet  did  night  of  clouds  behold  thy  birth. 

Nor  wild  winds  chant  their  mournful  dirges  near. 

Thou  lovest  not  e'en  the  echoing  gales  of  mirth, 
That  sweep  too  rudely  in  their  mad  career. 


10  DEW-DROPS. 

Rousing  the  forest  with  their  many  wiles, 

And  sounding  anthems  down  its  grand  old  isles. 

But  when  soft  airs  are  whisp'ring  through  the  leaves, 
And  twilight  shadows  deepen  into  night, 

Thou  spring' St  in  being,  and  thy  bosom  heaves, 
Beneath  the  glimmer  of  the  pale  moonlight ; 

Or  stars  alone  their  myriad  beams  may  weave, 
And  send  from  their  far-off  majestic  height, 

To  gladden  thy  still  dawning  ;  and  to  see 

Their  bright  forms  faintly  imaged  back  in  thee. 

How  nature  glows,  revived  beneath  thy  power. 

Silent  awakener  of  its  drooping  life, 
How  like  to  this,  the  love  of  God  to  our 

Faint,  weary  spirits  in  this  mortal  strife  ; 
When  great  the  "  heat  and  burden"  of  the  hour. 

Like  thy  cool  drops,  with  balmy  freshness  rife, 
It  steals  into  the  heart,  dispelling  gloom. 
Causing  life's  aloe  to  expand  in  bloom. 

And  Hke  to  thee,  the  "  still  small  voice"  within. 
Which  chooses  not  the  hour  of  passion's  sway. 

When  souls  are  revelling  in  guilt  and  sin. 

To  breathe  its  gentle  warning  :  when  the  day 


DEW-DROPS.  11 

Of  tumult  has  subsided,  and  the  din 

Gives  place  unto  night's  calm  reflecting  ray, 
That  spirit-voice  may  oft  distinct  be  heard 
Whisp'ring  the  mandate  of  God's  holy  word. 

But  as  I  gaze  thy  brilliancy  has  fled, 

A  swift  dissolving  and  thou  art  no  more  : 

Perchance  in  some  light  cloud  o'er  Heaven  spread 
We  yet  may  see  thee  softly  sailing  o'  er. 

So  joys  departed,  hopes  forever  dead. 

Oft  change  to  higher,  holier  than  before  ; 

And  all  through  life,  below,  around,  above. 

We  mark  the  o'er-shadowings  of  Boundless  Love. 


LINES 

RECITED   BY   THE   GRADUATING    CLASS  OF  W.  B.  i^, 
NINTH   MONTH    1 863. 

1^  N  C  E  more  we  stand  in  the  accustomed  places, 
Xl>     Once  more  our  voices  echo  in  these  halls, 
Once  more  we  gaze  on  the  familiar  faces, 

While  o'er  us  now  a  dark'ning  shadow  falls. 
As  the  fond  light  of  memory  recalls 


12  DEW-DROPS. 

Scenes  of  past  joy,  that  o'er  our  spirits  swell 
In  tides  resistless,  and  our  hearts  enthrall 
In  deepest  gloom  ;  and  more  than  tongue  can  tell 
We  feel,  to  utter  thus,  the  mournful  word,  farewell  ! 

Yet  we  must  speak  it,  though  a  word  so  sad, 

Sadder  to  us  than  it  was  e'er  before, 
Not  e'en  the  thought  of  home  can  make  us  glad, 

For  we  shall  mingle  with  you  here  no  more. 

On  life's  wild  ocean,  little  from  the  shore 
As  yet  our  barks  have  sailed  ;  but  now  their  way 

Must  lie  beyond,  where  deaf'ning  billows  roar. 
And  storms  may  meet  us  in  their  maddest  play  ; 
May  we  in  triumph  rise  above,  nor  own  their  sway  ! 

Long  have  we  lingered  here  in  learning's  light. 

Gleaning  fair  truths  to  serve  when  youth  has  fled, 
Sowing  the  seed  while  yet  our  spring  is  bright. 

And  no  clouds  frown  in  darkness  overhead  ; 

May  we  reap  harvests  where  no  blight  is  shed, 
And,  as  our  lives  glide  onward  to  the  tomb, 

Find  that  not  vainly  have  the  moments  sped. 
But  round  our  pathway  the  rich  fruits  are  strewn. 
Wearing  the  golden  radiance  of  the  ripened  bloom. 


DEW-DROPS.  13 

The  future  lies  before  us  ;  joy  and  care 

Alike  are  waiting  to  attend  our  way  ; 
Oh  !  may  the  lessons  we  have  gathered  here 

Teach  us  thro'  joy  in  gratitude  to  stay, 

And  thank  the  Father  whom  the  winds  obey. 
And  when  Adversity's  chill  blast  is  given, 

May  it  but  tend  to  win  the  heart  away 
From  earth's  allurements  (frail  as  clouds  at  even,) 
And  draw  us  still  nearer  to  our  home  in  Heaven. 

Far  different  destinies  may  yet  be  ours, 

Where  the  wide  prospect  opens  brightly  now — 

The  way  of  one  may  lie  through  meads  of  flowers, 
Another  beneath  heavy  burdens  bow, 
The  silver  trump  of  Fame  for  one  may  blow, 

And  one  may  slumber  in  an  early  grave. 

But  whatsoe'er  Time's  passage  may  bestow,  ' 

Let  us  look  upward,  and  His  blessing  crave, 

Whose  voice  can  calm  the  tempest  and  can  still  the  wave. 

The  withered  leaves  lie  rustling  'neath  our  tread, 
The  wailing  of  the  autumn  winds  we  hear, 

A  hollow  moan  upon  their  course  is  shed, 
The  mournful  cadence  of  the  dying  year. 


14  DEW-DROPS. 

Meet  time  for  those  who  now  are  gathered  here, 
And  long  have  walked  in  harmony  and  love, 

Meet  time  for  these  to  shed  the  parting  tear, 

And  break  the  silken  band  which  Friendship  wove. 

Days  may  pass  onward  on  the  wings  of  Time, 

Moons  wax  and  wane  in  the  o'erarching  sky, 
Stars  rise  and  set  in  those  vast  realms  sublime. 

Yet  nevermore  renew  this  holy  tie  ; 

But  until  Memory's  beams  shall  fade  and  die, 
And  reason's  day  become  a  clouded  night, 

Your  names  within  our  hearts  shall  ever  lie 
Fresh  and  unfading  as  yon  stars  of  light. 
That  centuries  dim  not  in  their  endless  flight. 

And  you,  who  have  been  beacons  in  our  way, 
To  guide  us  onward  in  the  path  of  right. 

How  often  from  it  we  have  gone  astray, 

And  cast  a  shadow,  darker  than  the  night. 

Upon  the  hearts  we  should  have  bathed  in  light — 

Forgive  the  sorrows  we  have  made  you  know. 
Forget  the  clouds  that  our  best  natures  blight. 

Upon  the  brighter  side  let  memory  glow. 

Think  only  of  our  virtues  and  all  else  forego. 


DEW-DROPS.  15 

And  now  farewell  !  your  counsels  all  are  o'  er, 
Yet  those  you've  tendered  not  forgot  shall  be, 

But,  fondly  cherished  in  the  heart's  hid  store, 
Shall  light  our  footsteps  to  eternity, 
And  when  from  earthly  bondage  we  are  free. 

May  we  all  mingle  where  the  blest  have  gone, 
Beyond  the  dark  waves  of  oblivion's  sea. 

Strike  golden  harps  and,  gathered  round  the  Throne, 

Unite  in  singing  praise  to  the  Eternal  One. 


THE    BETTER    PART. 

^S  through  life  our  way  is  wending,  as  we  meet 
each  daily  care, 
Wherefore  should  we,  in  repining,  multiply  the  troubles 

there  ? 
Why  not  "string  the  pearls"  of  gladness,  and  whatever 

fate  betide. 
Cast  a  glance  of  deeper  interest  ever  on  the  brighter 

side  ? 
From  the  blackest  waste  of  water  on  the  darkest,  starless 

night, 


16  DEW-DROPS. 

There  will  flash   unto   the  gazer,   some   faint  gleam  of 

silvery  light. 
Never  yet  so  cold  a  winter,  but  some  bird  would  wave 

its  wing  ; 
Never  noontide  heat  of  summer,  but  has  heard  the  robin 

sing  ! 
Though  a  crushing  weight  of  sorrow  bow  our  spirits  to 

the  dust, 
Must  we  therefore  in  the  future,  lose  for  aye  our  faith 

and  trust  ? 
Surely  the  almighty  Father  never  wills  us  to  despair. 
And  his   chastening  hand  no   heavier  falleth  than   our 

souls  can  bear. 
Cast   aside   a    mood    desponding,    part    the    mist    that 

gathers  o'er  ! 
Every  lightest  waves  of  influence  widens  to  oblivion's 

shore. 
Oh  !  'tis  not  a  lengthened  visage,  nor  a  stern  and  awful 

tone, 
That  can  draw  our  wandering  footsteps  nearer  the  eter- 
nal home. 
These  may  waken  awe  and  reverence  but  they  cannot 

kindle  love. 
And  they  fail  the  deep  emotions  of  the  yearning  soul  to 

move. 


DEW-DROPS.  17 

'Tis  the"  voice  of  gentle  pleading  that  the  human  heart 
can  sway, 

Stirring  strong  desires  for  heaven,  longing  for  the  better 
way  ; 

Teaching  by  a  cheerful  spirit  that  religion's  paths  are 
peace, 

Pointing  with  an  upward  finger  to  the  land  where  striv- 
ings cease. 

Wherefore  tell  us  that  life's  pathway  lieth  through  a 
vale  of  tears, 

That  but  transient  are  the  visions  that  surround  our  early 
years  ? 

Though  full  soon  will  pass  .the  glowing  of  youth's  dawn- 
ing golden  ray, 

Yet  there  dwelleth  noonday  shadows,  where  the  morn- 
ing dew-drops  stay. 

There  are  flowers  that  open  only  at  the  stilly  eventide, 

And  the  nightingale  is  singing  when  the  sounds  of  day 
have  died. 

Why  not  bid  us,  as  we  journey,  prize  our  present  bless- 
ings more  ? 

Brighten  at  each  gleam  of  sunlight  though  a  cloud  may 
lie  before  ? 

Should  we  not  to  duty's  calling  ever  lend  a  willing  ear, 


18  DEW-DROPS. 

Giving  unto  all  around  us  kindly  words  and  smiles  of 

cheer  ? 
Let  no  gloomy  lowering  shadow  o'er  the  social  circle 

fall; 
If  one  harpstring  but  be  broken,   discord  will  pervade 

them  all. 
Offer  to  the  God  of  being  a  sincerely  grateful  heart, 
Brothers,  sisters,  on  Hfe's  journey,  is  not  this  the  better 

part? 


GONE. 
j^  MOURNFUL  echo  on  the  air  is  ringing 
The  sad  ^oHan  of  a  requiem  lay  ; 
For  summer  round  her,  her  bright  veil  is  flinging. 
And  Hke  a  dream,  is  passing  hence  away. 

And  are  they  gone — those  days  of  tropic  splendor — 
The  balmy  morning — and  still  eventide — 

The  long  soft  twilight  hour,  so  calm  and  tender, 
Whose  chastened  shadows  o'er  the  spirit  glide? 

Yes  !  by  the  coolness  of  the  northwind,  rushing 
Thro'  woodlands  cheered  more  rarely  by  a  song, 


DEW-DROPS.  19 

By  the  bright  hectic  a  chance  leaflet  flushing, 

We  know  that  summer  from  our  land  has  gone. 

'Tis  ever  thus!  the  fairest  hopes  and  fancies 

Are  first  to  wither  or  to  prove  untrue, 
The  brighter  shine  the  dew-drop's  morning  glances, 

The  sooner  will  it  vanish  from  our  view. 

Yet  not  repiningly  we  say  this,  Father  ! 

'Tis  well  the  bitter  with  the  sweet  should  come. 
Else,  might  we,  mid  the  joys  that  round  us  gather, 

Forget  that  earth  is  not  our  lasting  home. 

Forget  that  life  is  not  for  ease  nor  pleasure, 

And  that  full  soon  will  fall  our  time's  last  sand  : 

Forget  the  need  to  lay  up  hidden  treasure 
In  the  wide  coffers  of  the  Better  Land. 

And  though  we  mourn  the  fading  buds  of  beauty ,^~ 

As  one  by  one  they  perish  and  depart, 
May  it  remind  us  of  that  holy  duty — 

To  keep  alive  the  flow  erets  of  the  heart. 

If,  as  we  ponder  the  past  season  over, 

Neglect  and  error  to  the  mind  are  borne, — 

If  dim  the  spirit-light — and  we  discover 
Heaven  no  nearer  as  the  days  go  on. 


20  DEW' DROPS. 

Let  us  awake'n  to  renewed  endeavor, 
A  higher  hope  and  purer  life  to  win  ; 

And  through  the  wintry  hour  cast  round  us  ever 
A  ray  of  gladness  from  the  peace  within. 

Should  spring  buds,  waken  from  their  icy  slumber, 
Find  us  no  longer  in  the  paths  we  trod, 

May  dawn  upon  us  the  eternal  summer, 
Bright  with  the  glory  of  the  living  God  ! 


.MYSTERIES. 

HERE  the  dark  forest  sends  a  solemn  murmur 
Up  to  the  free  blue  sky  ; 
Where  wild- wood  flowers  are  breaking  their  long  slumber, 
As  Spring's  soft  air  floats  by  ; 

Far  where  the  pearl  and  coral  wTeath  are  lying 

Low  in  the  ocean  wave  ; 
Where  buried  diamonds  gild  with  ray  undying 

The  deep  and  secret  cave  ; 


DEW-DROPS.  21 

Up  where  the  stars  of  morning  "  sang  together," 
When  earth's  green  hills  were  new, 

Where  still,  in  Hving  light,  they  roll  forever, 
On  thro'  the  boundless  blue  ; 

All  these  are  fraught  with  mystery — flower  and  ocean, 

Forest  and  hidden  mine, 
The  stars  that  nightly  burn  in  pure  devotion, 

On  heaven's  distant  shrine. 

But  darker  yet  the  mystic  shadow  hovers 

The  human  heart  around  ; 
We  have  no  ray  to  pierce  the  thought  of  others, 

No  line  our  own  to  sound  ! 

The  gale  that  o'er  the  streamlet's  breast  is  sweeping. 
May  waken  ripples  there  ;  ^— 

Beneath,  all  calmly  are  the  waters  sleeping, 
Reached  by  no  breath  of  air. 

Thus,  in  our  social  mingling  and  exchanging 

Of  many  a  thought  and  word, 
The  surface  only  of  the  mind  is  ranging. 

Below  are  depths  unstirred. 


22  DEW-DROPS. 

The  garden's  pride,  the  rose  of  fairest  seeming, 

May  hide  an  inward  bhght  ; 
The  flush  upon  the  cheek  of  beauty  beaming, 

Is  oft  the  fever's  hght. 

The  heart  most  dear,  whose  strings  seem  all  vibrating 

Responsive  to  our  own, 
As  the  ^olian  lyre's  soft  sounds  awaking 

Echo  the  breeze's  tone. 

Whose  joy  or  sorrow  by  our  own  is  measured, 
And  twined  life's  threads  among, 

Oh  !  are  there  not  e'en  in  that  spirit,  treasured 
Chords  we  have  never  strung  ? 

Each  soul  hath  tones  whose  low  and  secret  ringing 

Falls  not  on  mortal  ear  ; 
The  spirit's  anthem,  or  its  wail  upspringing, 

Heaven  alone  can  hear. 

'Tis  mystery  all  !  ay,  search  within,  and  ponder  ; 

Trace  thought  unto  its  goal  ! 
Bid  wild  imagination  cease  to  wander  ! 

Give  form  unto  the  soul  ! 


D-EW-DROPS.  23 

Tell  why  a  sound,  a  touch,  hath  power  to  waken 

A  picture  of  the  past  ; 
Why,  by  a  breath  are  oft  our  natures  shaken, 

As  leaves  in  mountain  blast ; . 

From  whence  come  dreams,  when  gliding  softly  round  us, 

The  long  departed  rise  ; 
When  almost  severed  seems  the  cord  that  bound  us, 

And  broken,  earth's  frail  ties  ! 

'Tis  vain  !  no  answer  breaks  the  solemn  quiet  ; 

Vain  is  all  human  lore  ; 
*  *  Thus  far,  no  farther, ' '  sounds  the  Almighty  fiat ; 

We  live,  but  know  no  more. 

Yet  there  are  moments  when  the  soul  is  nearing 

Higher  and  holier  things. 
When  bending  low,  the  ear  of  Faith  is  hearing 

The  rush  of  spirit  wings  ; 

And  fainter,  tho'  most  clear,  from  the  heart's  portal 
A  ' '  still  small  voice  ' '  is  heard, 

Breathing  a  cadence  from  the  land  immortal — 
From  God,  a  hallowed  word. 


24  DEW-DROPS. 

The  season  comes  when  voices  soft  are  calling 

The  song-bird  to  our  shore  ; 
When  brighter  gold  is  with  the  sunbeam  falling  ; 

And  balmier  gales  blow  o'er. 

Let  us  go  forth  when  round  the  brow  of  nature 
Is  twined  her  blossom  crown, 

Learning  the  lesson  'graved  on  every  feature, 
Whether  in  smile  or  frown, 

To  walk  contented  in  the  brightness  given, 

Humbly  yet  firmly  on, 
Until  the  hour  when  every  cloud  is  riven, 

And  mystic  shades  are  gone. 

Humbly — because  no  power  of  ours  inherent, 

Bade  us  here  live  and  stand  ; 
Firmly — because  we  feel  our  strings  of  being 

Swept  by  a  Mighty  Hand. 

Taking  each 'step  with  care,  where  clouds  are  weaving 
Their  dark'ning  mists  before  ; 

Remembering  ever,* we  our  prints  are  leaving 
Behind  for  evermore. 


DEW-DROPS.  25 

Let  Faith  and  Love,  in  radiant  light  combining, 

Lead  from  the  verdant  sod. 
Up  where  the  glory  of  the  Lamb  is  shining 

In  the  Paradise  of  God. 


UNDER    THE    WILLOWS. 

NDER  the  willows  I  sit  and  dream, 
While  the  sunsets'  glow  thro'  their  arches  stream, 
And  the  waving  leaves,  in  the  softened  light, 
Stir  with  the  airs  of  the  coming  night. 
And  I  look  above,  where  they  toss  on  high, 
To  the  azure  dome  of  the  far-off  sky  ; 
And  my  thoughts  go  back  thro'  the  silent  years. 
Back  thro'  their  shadowy  mists  of  tears, 
Down  dim  old  aisles  where  the  cloisters  vast, 
Throng  with  the  graves  of  the  buried  past, 
Till  they  rest  at  last  where  the  fountains  play 
In  the  early  dawn  of  life's  opening  day  ; 
And  childhood's  woofs  of  the  purest  gold, 
Have  woven  around  me  fold  on  fold, 


26  DEW-DROPS. 

Till  olden  shrines  spread  their  treasures  bright 
Under  the  willows  again  to-night. 

Under  the  willows  gay  hopes  were  born  ; 
Unmindful  was  life  of  its  looming  storm  ; 
The  future  gleamed  thro'  its  starry  shroud, 
Like  the  moonlight  pours  from  a  silvery  cloud  ; 
The  morning  stars  of  existence  sang, 
And  echoes  of  joy  in  the  distance  rang. 
Then  the  longing  heart  wooed  the  coming  day 
When  womanhood's  crown  on  this  brow  should  lay- 
That  bright  elysium  that  shone  before, 
Which  the  bow  of  promise  was  bending  o'er, 
Where  the  buds  of  life  should  unfold  and  twine, 
And  earth's  fruition  of  hope  be  mine. 

The  dream  is  past — and  I  waken  now 
To  the  sterner  clasping  around  my  brow — 
The  hour  has  come,  but  the  flowers  have  died  ; 
The  withered  wreath  the  sharp  thorns  hide. 
I  waken  now  to  the  real  and  true, 
To  the  fuller  life  we  are  passing  through  ; 
The  glow  has  gone,  and  the  beacons  fade  ; 
On  the  fairest  scene  a  spell  is  laid, 


DEW-DROPS.  27 

Treasures  lie  scattered  from  broken  shrines, — 
The  wealth  of  the  heart's  unfathomed  mines, — 
Idols  are  fallen,  and  offerings  there 
Are  a  wasted  wreck  on  the  altar  stair, 
And  all  the  pillars  of  earthly  trust 
Crumble  and  wither  away  to  dust. 

Under  the  willows  I  scan  it  now — 
The  stream  of  Time  on  its  backward  flow, — 
And  a  thankful  breath  from  my  soul  goes  up 
To  the  Giver  of  sweet  and  of  bitter  cup, 
That  the  way  was  hid,  that  the  seeking  eye 
Views  not  the  paths  which  before  it  lie. 
Nor  would  I  blot  from  the  record  there 
The  hours  made  dark  by  a  wild  despair. 
Were  it  not  for  these,  would  we  ever  know 
The  deeper  meaning  of  life  below  ? 
Were  the  early  dream  fulfilled  to  night, 
Had  the  years  shown  but  with  a  joyous  light, 
Content  in  the  present  the  mind  had  stayed. 
Forgotten  the  glory  that  may  not  fade, 
Dwarfed  in  its  aims  the  soul  had  grown 
To  grasp  at  the  things  of  time  alone, 
And  the  worldly  path  in  its  pleasure  trod 
Never  might  l.ead  to  the  home  of  God. 


28  DEW-DROPS. 

Better  by  far,  I  can  feel  and  know, 
Than  perfecting  the  wishes  of  long  ago, 
Has  the  Father  done,  as  He  gently  broke 
Each  fondest  hope  in  my  breast  that  woke. 
In  wisdom  He  rules,  and  for  good  alone — 
Our  needs  are  known  at  the  jasper  Throne. 
Never  in  vain  unto  Him  we  call 
Who  careth  still  for  the  sparrow's  fall. 
And  a  higher  hope  and  a  trust  more  deep. 
Are  born  of  the  tears  we  in  sorrow  weep. 
And  a  purer  faith  in  His  great  design, 
Under  the  willows  to-night  is  mine. 


FAINT    YET    PURSUING, 
j^  L  L   alone  within   my  chamber,    as  the  darkness 
gathered  round, 
And    upon   the  sombre  stillness   fell   no  murmur  of  a 

sound, 
Save  the  brooklet's  rippling  cadence,  and  the  sighing 

evening  air. 
Sending  through  the  leafy  branches  a  low  whisper  of 
despair — 


DEW-DROPS.  29 

All  alone  I  sat  and  pondered  on  the  long  and  weary  way, 
Ere  the  soul  could  break  its  bondage — ere  its  night  be- 

cometh  day. 
Mine  had  faltered  in  the  journey  that  it  weakly  strove  to 

run. 
And  again,  agaiii,  had  slidden  backward  where  it  first 

begun  : 
All  the  late-formed  resolutions,  that  in  human  strength 

were  made, 
On  the  altar  of  temptation,  early  in  the  strife  were  laid  : 
Still  unwatchful  was  the  spirit  guarding  life's  besetting 

sin — 
And  a  deep  unconquered  shrinking  from  the  cross  was 

felt  within, 
"  'Tis  in  vain  !  I  ne'er  shall  triumph  !"  was  my  heart's 

despairing  cry  ; 
' '  Wherefore  yet  prolong  the  warfare  ?    Self  will   never 

wholly  die, — 
And  my  feet  so  far  have  wandered  from  my  Father's 

house  astray. 
That  in  vain  they  seek  to  enter  and  to  keep  the  narrow 

way." 
Then  a  low-breathed  whisper  falleth  softly  on  mine  in- 
ward ear, 


30  DEW-DROPS. 

"  Faint  not,  yield  not  up  the  conflict,  wherefore  should' st 

thou  doubt  and  fear  ? 
Though  the  billows  of  temptation  shall  engulf  thee,  o'er 

and  o'er, 
Never  cease  the  mighty  struggle  till  thy  feet  ha^'e  gained 

the  shore  ! 
Daily  yet  renew  the  contest,   hourly  gird  thine  armor 

on  ! 
Take  thy  cross,  uplift  it  boldly,  'tis  a  weight  that  must 

be  borne. 
If  in  helplessness  thy  spirit  almost  lays  its  burden  down. 
Oh  !   remember  that  above  thee  glitters  the  rewarding 

crown. 
Strength  is  only  born  of  weakness,  power  is  not  attained 

by  will, 
At  the  feet  of  thy  Redeemer  thou  must  be  more  helpless 

still. 
All  the  good  thou  seest  round  thee,  have  been  tried  and 

tempted  too, 
Only  by   renewing   effort   have   they   feebly   struggled 

through. 
All  that's  greatest  groweth  slowly.     As  in  nature's  per- 
fect plan 


DEW-DROPS.  31 

Cloud  and  sun  alike  are  needed,  so  within  the  heart  of 

man 
Every   seedling   God  hath    planted,   must  receive  both 

smile  and  frown. 
Tears  of  penitence  must  water,  dews  of  sorrow  bow  it 

down, 
Ere  a  ray  of  Heaven's  sunlight,  with  its  warm,  reviving 

power, 
Draweth  upward,  in  the  fulness  of  His  own  appointed 

hour. 
Take   thy   high    resolves   and   broken,    made    alone  in 

strength  of  thine. 
And  with  will  subdued   and  humbled,  lay  them  tear- 
stained  on  His  shrine. 
Bowing  there  in  lowest  meekness,  let  the  breath  of  prayer 

arise. 
And  the  God  who  heareth  sinners,  thee  will  hear. beyond 

the  skies." 
And  my  fainting  soul  took  courage,  and  the  spirit  of 

the  air 
Seemed  no  longer  sorrow-haunted  by  the  breathings  of 

despair, 
But  a  peaceful  calm  was  resting  on  the  silence  of  my 

room, 


32  DEW-DROPS. 

And  a  slanting  moonbeam  quivered  brightly  thro'  the 

deepened  gloom. 
And  to  you,  my  fellow  travellers,  who  are  drooping  on 

the  way, 
I  would   fain    this  hope  and   comfort  shed   upon   your 

hearts  to-day. 
Let  us  not  sink  down  o'er-wearied,  for  the  brink  whereon 

we  stand. 
Many  pressed,  we  now  are  deeming  angels  in  the  Better 

Land. 
Even  now  the  trump  has  sounded  and  a  mighty  prophet 

gone, 
One  who  in  Jehovah's  army  battled  valiantly  and  long, 
Who  our  Ark  of  Faith  supported  with  a  firmness  nought 

could  quell ; 
All  the  bulwarks  of  our  Zion  trembled  when  that  pillar 

fell.^.^ 
Let  us,   then,  press  bravely  forward,  and  a  holy  voice 

may  call 
From  our  ranks,  on  whom  his  mantle  may  with  added 

virtue  fall, 
For  the  great  Eternal  Father  will  be  magnified  o'er  all  ! 
*  Thomas  Evans. 


DEW-DROPS.  33 

MUSINGS. 

fl  T  T I  N  G  alone  in  the  shadow,  ^ 

As  the  hours  of  twilight  wane, 
And  the  boughs  of  the  weeping  willow 
Are  drifted  against  the  pane, 

A  feeling  of  sadness  holdeth 

My  heart  in  its  chilling  clasp, 
As  I  think  of  the  moments  passing 

So  swiftly  beyond  our  grasp. 

Backward,  to-night  is  rolling 

The  scroll  of  the  Dying  Year  ; 
And  the  records  stamped  forever. 

To  memory's  glance  appear. 

There  are  joys  that  came  unbidden. 
And  hopes  that  were  born  to  die  ; 

There  are  times  of  aching  sorrow, 

And  hours  when  the  heart  beat  high. 

There  are  Dead  Sea  fruits  whose  fairness 

With  ashes  mocked  the  taste  ; 
There  are  scenes  whose  far  off  beauty, 

On  nearing,  proved  a  waste  ; 


34  DEW-DROPS. 

Resolves  that  soon  were  broken  ; 
Regrets  that  now  are  vain  ; 
"^     And  idle  dreams  and  fancies, 
Throng  on  my  view  again. 

As  one  who,  leaving  forever, 
The  scenes  of  a  foreign  shore, 

Where  long  with  delight  he  tarried 
'Mid  friends  he  may  greet  no  more, 

Looks  back  o'er  the  curling  billows, 
Thro'  the  haze  of  the  ocean  air. 

And  ponders  each  remembrance 
Its  vales  and  mountains  bear  ; 

So  I,  on  the  year  receding. 

O'er  the  crested  waves  of  Time, 

Through  the  gathering  mists  of  distance. 
Look  back  to  its  morning  prime. 

And  not  the  gloomiest  shadow 
Of  its  darker  actions  past. 

Can  wholly  dim  the  lustre 
By  fairer  moments  cast. 


DEW-DROPS.  35 

For  wreaths  of  home  affection 

Upon  its  bosom  glow, 
And  Friendship's  greener  garland, 

Is  twined  above  its  brow\ 

But  has  its  onward  passing, 

With  aught  oi good  been  fraught  ? 

Glows  there  ofte  better  impulse, 
One  purer,  holier  thought  ? 

Has  there  one  step,  tho'  faltering. 

Entered  the  surer  way  ? 
Sheddeth  the  light  of  Heaven, 

A  warmer,  brighter  ray  ? 

Oh  !  soul  of  mine  !  how  lowly 

Thy  highest  efforts  seem  !  — 

Not  one  brave  wing  has  fluttered 
Beyond  an  earthly  dream. 

Not  by  aspiring  only. 

Never  by  faith  alone, 
Will  the  life-strings  of  our  being 

Give  forth  a  nobler  tone. 


36  DEW-DROPS. 

The  hand  of  strong  endeavor 

Must  strike  each  quivering  chord 
The  wilHng,  sought  for  Helper 
Must  prove  temptation's  guard. 

A  dirge-hke  note  is  sounding, 
As  the  winds  go  moaning  by  ; 

And  from  my  heart  is  breathing 
An  unavaiHng  sigh. 

If  ever  round  me  falleth 

The  New  Year's  waning  Hght, 

Oh  !  grant  its  record,  Father, 
Be  purer  in  Thy  sight. 


CHANGE. 
H  A  N  G  E  !    restless  change,   in   nature' s  realm   is 


m 

<^      reignmg— 

Her  great,  unerring,  and  eternal  law — 
A  vast  creation  is  this  truth  maintaining, 

And  from  its  action  life  and  being  draw. 


DEW-DROPS.  37 

The  calm,  clear  brightness  of  the  noontide  glowing 
Succeeds  the  beauty  of  the  morning  hour  ; 

The  softer  light  of  evening's  faint  bestowing 
Fades  in  the  shadow  of  night's  darker  power. 

The  airs  that  fan  the  ethereal  brow  of  summer 
Soon  die  in  autumn's  frost-bespangled  hair, — 

The  proud  old  woods,  through  every  sylvan  murmur, 
Whisper  the  changes  time  has  made  them  bear. 

The  clouds  that  form  the  embattlements  of  Heaven, 
Around  the  arch  their  varying  courses  range — 

To  the  bright  army  far  beyond,  is  given 

The  power  of  constant,  never-ending  change. 

Fair  hills  of  earth  have  risen  and  descended — 

Cities  have  sunk  beneath  the  restless  wave —  ~  - 

Man's  mighty  passions,  with  all  nature  blended. 
Through  varying  phases  drift  him  to  the  grave. 

The  heart  hath  changes,  from  its  hour  of  waking 

To  all  the  mystery  of  being  here, 
To  that  still  time  when  kindred  hearts  seem  breaking 

In  grieving  sorrow  round  a  burdened  bier. 


38  DEW-DROPS, 

Tho'  ceaseless  dropping  wears  the  rock's  hard  features, 
We  scarce  can  mark  it  as  we  pass  along — 

And  day  by  day  the  impress  on  our  natures, 
We  note  but  little  in  life's  'wildering  throng. 

But  why  should  joys,  that  strongly  once  allured  us, 
Have  lost  the  glamour  that  of  old  they  wore  ? 

And  wherefore  do  we,  thro'  the  realms  of  fancy, 
Chase  the  same  phantoms  of  the  brain  no  more  ? 

Tho'  brightly  round,  the  wavelets  of  existence 

Have  tossed  the  sparkling  foam  of  pleasure  high, 

From  deeper  waters  and  the  blue  of  distance, 
We  smile  to  see  them  slowly  melt  and  die. 

A  wail  of  sorrow  breathed  upon  the  dying, 

A  thought  from  lives  inwoven  with  our  own. 

May  rouse  the  spirit  in  dull  bondage  lying, 
And  waken  inward  a  more  thrilling  tone. 

Can  we  not  all  in  glancing  back  discover 

Some  spot  unfaded,  some  remembered  day. 

That  stands  a  milestone  by  the  road  passed  over, 
From  whence  we  bore  an  older  heart  away  ? 


DEW-DROPS.  39 

Ah  !  we  are  changing,  surely  changing,  ever, 
We  cannot  linger,  nor  be  still  the  same, 

While  thought  and  reason,  weakness  and  endeavor, 
Show  forth  by  action  in  our  mortal  frame. 

Farther  or  nearer  still  our  course  is  wending. 

The  change  of  heart  in  God's  almighty  plan, — 

The  new  creation  where  his  Light  is  sending 
A  ray  of  knowledge  to  the  soul  of  man. 

When  far  across  the  shadowy  vale  is  streaming 
The  glimmering  radiance  of  our  day's  decline, 

O,  may  that  change  so  glorious  and  redeeming, 
Sisters  and  brothers,  be  both  yours  and  mine  ! 


AUTUMNAL    THOUGHTS. 

L  U  E  over  hill  and  forest  now  is  drawn 
The  Indian  summer  haze, — 
With  slow  and  pulseless  motion  stealeth  on 
The  calm  bright  autumn  days. 


40  DEW-DROPS. 

The  flowers  are  withered  by  the  streamlet's  side, 

The  bird-notes  die  away  ; 
The  woodlands  wear,  in  grand  yet  mournful  pride, 

The  hectic  of  decay. 

And  beats  the  heart  in  unison  with  all, — 

The  gloom  that  fastens  there 
Is  wafted  downward  with  the  dead  leaves'  fall, 

Borne  on  the  still  noon  air. 

A  sadness  checks  the  spirit's  wonted  flow, 

A  melancholy  drear  ; 
The  seasons  open  and  the  seasons  go, 

And  yet  we  still  are  here. 

Here  for  some  good,  we  dimly,  faintly  trust, 

Still  in  God's  mercy  stayed, 
Who  ever  yet  remembereth,  of  the  dust 

Are  all  his  children  made  ; 

That,  like  the  frost  beneath  the  sunlight's  powder, 

Melt  our  resolves  away 
Within  the  fierce  heat  of  temptation's  hour, 

And  pleasure's  world-bright  day  ; 


DEW-DROPS.  41 

That,  as  the  mist  encircling  all  the  hills 

Within  its  dreamy  fold 
Causeth  the  light  that  sun  or  moon  distils, 

To  fall  in  paler  gold, 

So  idle  reveries,  hovering  o'er  the  mind. 

Lull  to  a  false  repose, 
And  heaven's  sunbeams  but  dim  entrance  find 

Through  their  delusive  glows  ; 

And  when  at  last  the  curtain  is  uprolled, 

It  forms  a  cloudland  there  ; 
And  underneath,  the  branches  we  behold 

No  leaves  nor  fruitage  bear. 

Uncounted  ways  are  ever  lying  near, 

Kept  by  the  Evil  One, 
To  draw  the  heart  from  out  that  holy  fear 

That  leads  to  peace  alone. 

Unnumbered  trials  in  our  pathway  lie, — 

The  myriad  cares  of  life. 
The  daily  duties  we  may  not  go  by, 
The  crosses  and  the  strife. 


42  DEW-DROPS. 

Though  oft  at  morn  we  gird  us  to  preserve 

Our  nature's  brightest  crown, 
We  find  at  even  that  we  but  deserve 

The  all-rebuking  frown. 

And  so  the  days  glide  onward  to  their  goal, 

The  seasons  pass  away. 
And  other  years  flow  back  upon  the  soul 

With  hues  of  yesterday. 

And  like  yon  leaf  we  drift  adown  the  tide, 

Nearer  the  open  sea  ; 
But  how  much  nearer  do  our  spirits  glide, 

Father  of  Good,  to  Thee  ? 

Only  from  Thee  proceeds  our  shield  from  harm 
Our  strength,  our  guidance.  Thine  ; 

All,  all  is  weakness,  till  Thy  mighty  arm 
Extends  an  aid  divine. 

Oh  !  be  Thou  near  us  when  we  fall  or  stand — 

Help  us  to  do  Thy  will  ; 
To  bow  submissive  to  Thy  chastening  hand, 

Which  rules  in  mercy  still  ! 


DEW-DROPS.  43 

Then  why  should  sadness  fall  upon  the  heart, 

In  Autumn's  fading  prime  ; 
Since  every  season  in  thy  care  hath  part, 

And  all  alike  are  Thine  ? 

And  through  Thy  love,  as  Spring  awakes  the  flowers 

To  blossom  round  our  way, 
So  may  we  waken  in  immortal  bowers 

To  Thine  eternal  day. 


SPRING    BREATHINGS. 

!|^  H  E  N  the  springtime  buds  and  blossoms,  and  the 
beauteous  earth  again 
Takes  the  green  and  golden  binding  on  her  page  of  hill 

and  plain, 
When  the  liquid  flow  of  water  fills  the  valley-land  with 

song, 
And  the  birds  their  founts  of  music  pour  the  whole  bright 
day  along. 


44  DEW-DROPS. 

Or,  with  wing  untired,  ascending  up  to  Heaven's  blue 

profound, 
Like   the   fabled   nymph    of    Echo,    dying   to    a   silver 

sound  ; 
Oh  !  the  heart  can  scarce  be  human,   that  will  feel  no 

gladness  then, 
Turning  not  to  nature's  wooing  from  the  throngs  and 

works  of  men  ; 
That   will    feel    no    pulse    triumphant    leap    to    energy 

again, 
..And  the  flow  of  life's  elixir  bound  through  every  torpid 

vein. 
E'en  the  clasping  hand  of  sorrow  must  a  moment  loose 

its  hold, 
And  her  heavy  robe  of  darkness  open  outward,  fold  on 

fold, 
Till  the  wak'ning  soul's  expansion  meets  the  sunlight's 

warming  ray, 
And  a  fresher  hope  upspringing,  turns  its  gloomy  night 

to  day. 
Though  the  changing  of  the  seasons,  year  on  year,  hath 

met  our  view, 
And  the  seed-time  and  the  harvest  kept  the  olden  pro- 
mise true  ; 


DEW-DROPS.  45 

Though    the    miracles   of  being  daily  in  our  path  are 

wrought, 
And  the  cycle  ever  rounding  with  the  same  succession's 

fraught ; 
Yet  the  vernal  glow  of  nature  wears  a  brightness  ever 

new, 
Not  a  sense  but  drinks  its  presence,  like  the  flower  the 

morning  dew. 
Every   spirit-joy  within  us   spreads    the   wild    exulting 

wing, 
And  a  freer,  fresher  impulse  comes  with  each  returning 

Spring. 
Not  like  other  seasons  stealing  softly  on  with  changing 

forms, 
Spring  but  deepens  into  Summer,  Summer  dies  in  Au- 
tumn's arms, 
Autumn  weaves  his  rainbow-garland  on  her  early  grave 

to  lay, 
Then  with  sighing  and  with  weeping  slowly  pines  and 

fades  away — 
But  the  young   life  now   awaking  springs  direct  from 

Winter's  sod, 
And  the  barren  bough  seems  bursting  with  the  bloom  of 
Aaron's  rod. 


46   ■  DEW-DROPS. 

It  is  never  now  the  dark'ning  or  the  paling  of  a  shade, 
From  the  brown  twig  starts  the  green  leaf,  on  the  rock 

the  moss  is  laid  ; 
Not  a  gradual  transition,  but  a  sudden  vital  power, 
Sending  through  the  smallest  grass-blade  the  great  life- 
throb  of  the  hour. 
And  our  pulses  will  be  quickened  with  a  glad  responsive 

beat, 
While  an  instant  all  forebodings  fall  to   atoms   at  our 

feet. 
All  despairings  and  repinings  take  a  tenfold  darker  hue. 
As    we  note  the  cheering  beauty  of  the  world   we're 

passing  through. 
Even    yonder  warbling   sparrow   bears  a   lesson  in   his 

song, 
Faith  and  hoping,  trust  and  pleasure,  to  his  artless  lay 

belong. 
How  much  more  should  we,  who' re  valued  more  than 

many  sparrows  are. 
Grow  not  weary  in    our  strivings,    hopeless  deem   the 

blessing  far. 
Let  our  heartstrings,  like  the  spring  birds,   send  their 

sweetest  music  forth, 
Murmuring  not  tho'  our  rewarding,  wisely,  never  be  of 

earth  ; 


DEW-DROPS.  47 

Having  faith  in  Him  who  guideth  every  bark  upon  its 
way, 

Trusting  ever  that  to-morrow  shall  be  cared  for  as  to- 
day. 


TO    E.    S.    IN    AFFLICTION. 

Jj  BLAST  from  the  shadowy  valley 
Chill  to  thy  heart  has  blown  ; 
The  voice  of  the  Holy  Master 
Hath  called  back  his  own. 

The  smiles  that  greeted  thy  coming, 

Sweet  as  the  angels  wear, 
The  pressure  of  soft  arms  round  thee, 

The  touch  of  silken  hair, 

Eyes  full  of  a  changing  brightness, 
Lips  that  thy  own  have  kissed. 

Ah  !  none  can  tell  like  the  Mother, 
How  sadly  these  are  missed. 


48  DEW-DROPS. 

But  let  a  gleam  of  the  glory 
Beaming  beyond  the  skies, 

Break  thro'  the  mist  of  sorrow- 
That  o'er  thy  being  lies. 

Think  of  the  sinless  spirit, 

Winging  its  flight  above^ 
Meeting  no  bar  of  judgment, 

Crowned  with  Eternal  Love. 

Think  of  the  trials  and  sorrows 
That  lie  in  the  pathw^ay  of  life, 

The  temptings  to  sin  that  beset  us, 
The  wearisome  daily  strife. 

The  best  and  chosen  have  faltered 
Oft  in  the  lengthened  way  ; 

Would' St  thou  have  the  pure  and  guileless 
Know  of  dust  and  decay  ? 

Could  thy  voice  by  a  word  recall  him, 
Would' st  wish  him  back  once  more? 

Oh  !  think  that  thy  darling  is  landed 
Safe  on  the  other  shore  ! 


DEW-DROPS.  49 

And  thy  feet  seem  almost  pressing 
The  sands  of  that  shadowed  brim, 

And  nearer  seemeth  Heaven 
Now  that  it  holdeth  him. 

Thine  eye  is  piercing  the  darkness 

Shrouding  where  seraphs  stand, 
Thine  ear  is  ahnost  hearing 

Notes  from  the  Spirit-land. 

In  dreams,  the  form  of  thy  dear  one 

Filleth  his  olden  place, 
And  each  familiar  feature. 

The  vision  of  love  can  trace. 

Then  think  that  his  presence  is  round  thee. 

Leading  thy  soul  on  high  ; 
For  thy  heart  will  follow  its  treasure,        — 

Where  the  innocent  never  die. 


50  DEW-DROPS. 


LINES 

Suggested  by  hearing  of  the  reply  made  by  an  aged  Friend  on 
being  asked  to  visit  another,  whose  home  was  in  the  countr}', 
that  he  would  wait  until  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  had 
come. 
C^f!  O  T  now,  my  friend,  while  cold  and  bleak, 
(^4^     Thy  hills  arise  in  winter's  air. 
And  skyward  from  each  wooded  peak. 

The  great  trees  toss  their  branches  bare  ; 
While  morning's  brightness,  icy  pure, 

But  causes  flower  and  leaf  to  die, 
And  clouds  of  leaden  hue  obscure 
The  glories  of  the  evening  sky. 
Ask  me  not  now  in  Winter's  prime, 

To  tread  wdthin  thy  country  home, 
But  wait  a  little,  till  the  time 

Of  singing  of  the  birds  has  come. 

Not  while  the  crisp  brown  leaves  are  whirled 
From  corner  nooks  across  our  path, 

Not  while  these  frozen  darts  are  hurled 
Relentless  in  the  storm-king's  wrath. 

The  cold  winds,  over  hill  and  plain, 
Are  rushing  wildly,  madly  free  ; 


DEW-DROPS.  51 

No  green-leafed  boughs  their  course  restrain, 

And  wake  to  sweeter  melody. 
But  ever  through  their  gayest  chime, 

There  rings  a  hollow,  weird-like  moan, — 
Oh  !  wait  a  little,  till  the  time 

Of  singing  of  the  birds  shall  come  ; 

Until  these  crystal  fetters  flow 

In  sparkling  liquid  gleams  away, 
Till  softer,  balmier  airs  shall  blow 

Their  bugles  at  the  gates  of  day  ; 
When  sunshine's  golden  glances  rove 

O'er  mossy  banks  and  laughing  rills, 
And  fairer  cloudlands  float  above 

The  bright  green  circles  of  the  hills  ; 
When  zephyrs  through  the  wooded  dell 

Shall  whisper  of  the  violet's  home. 
And  Nature's  thousand  voices  tell 

The  time  of  singing  birds  has  come. 

When  far  away  the  soaring  krk 

Is  lost  widiin  the  upper  blue  ; 
When,  ere  from  light  is  cast  the  dark, 

The  robin  bathes  his  bill  in  dew  ; — 


52  DEW-DROPS. 

The  happy  birds  that  know  not  care, 

That  live  their  lives  of  endless  Spring, 
Oh  !  when  upon  thy  native  air, 

Their  'wildering  floods  of  music  ring. 
Then  may  my  steps  to  thee  and  thine, 

From  crowded  city  confines  roam, — 
In  Nature's  temple  greet  the  time 

Her  sweetest  choristers  have  come. 

Methinks  no  man  with  heart  yet  warm, 

Can  list  their  warblings  silver  clear. 
Nor  feel  a  pleasure  with  them  borne. 

And  thank  the  God  who  placed  them  here 
To  cheer  the  gloomy  wastes  of  life, 

And  many  a  deeper  lesson  teach, 
Rebuking  oft  its  troubled  strife. 

With  greater  eloquence  than  speech  ; 
And  bearing  on  each  waving  wing 

The  symbol  of  a  heavenly  home — 
Yes,  dear  to  me  the  budding  Spring, 

When  all  the  singing  birds  have  come. 


DEW-DROPS.  53 

THE    WOODLAND    PATH. 

§\  T  winds  in  quiet  beauty  adown  a  lonely  hill, 
t     Within  its  peaceful  shadow  the  sylvan  world  is  still  ; 
The  boughs  above  are  twining  so  closely  through  and 

through, 
That  scarce  between  can  glisten  the  light  of  heaven's 

blue. 
The  wind,  whose  loudest  anthems   zvithout  may  strike 

the  ear, 
Only  in  soft  seolians,  are  faintly  murmured  here. 
The  threads  of  Autumn  sunlight  are  weaving  here  and 

there. 
In  bright  and  golden  tissue  a  veiling  light  as  air. 
The  greenest  mosses  sparkle,  the  rarest  fern  leaves  wave, 
And  wild  wood  flowers  are  blowing  above  the  Summer's 

grave; 
And  fairyland  seems  opened  these  emerald  glades  among. 
As  fair  as  fancy  pictured,  or  ever  bard  has  sung  ; 
For  myriad  haunts  of  beauty,  vast  corridors  of  shade, 
Reveal  at  every  turning  the  wonders  God  has  made. 
No  columned,  arched  cathedral  the  hand  of  man  may 

raise. 
Can  swell  a  deeper  choral  of  honor  and  of  praise 


54  DEW-DROPS. 

Than  from  these  Hving  pillars  sounds  through  the  green- 
wood aisles, 

And  from  this  flowery  altar  in  silent  tribute  smiles. 

Within  this  quiet  temple  the  mind  is  calm  and  clear  ; 

The  world,  wnth  its  great  throbbings,  seems  severed 
from  us  here. 

A  stillness  to  the  senses,  and  pulseless  rest,  belong  ; 

In  dreamy  undulations  the  waves  of  thought  roll  on  ; 

The  happy  heart  ecstatic  may  wear  its  brightest  crown, 

And  sorrow  for  the  moment  may  cast  its  burden  down. 

Oh  !  though  the  soul  awakened  must  turn  from  these 
away. 

And  feel  that  more  is  needed  to  bring  the  perfect 
Day; 

That,  joying  in  the  forest,  the  sunshine,  and  the  air. 

And  all  that  God  hath  fashioned  of  beautiful  and  fair, 

Can  never  stay  the  spirit,  with  deeper  longings  rife. 

That  thirsts  for  living  waters  from  out  the  stream  of 
Life  ; 

Yet  is  there  still  in  Nature  a  charm  she  loseth  not, 

An  influence  calm  and  holy,  as  in  this  verdant  spot. 

For  is  not  God  in  Nature  ?  Do  not  these  woodlands 
dim. 

Through  all  their  generations,  forever  speak  of  Him  ? 


DEW-BE  OPS.  55 

And  to  the  loving  vassal,  within  the  leafy  bower, 

Is    borne    a   soothing    presence,    a    tender,   chastening 

power  ; 
And  vanish  all  the  demons  of  doubting  and  of  wrath  ; 
The  angels,  Love  and  Goodness,  o'erhang  the  woodland 

path. 


LIFE'S    CHANGES. 

§H  !  restless  world,  be  still  ! 
Turn  not  again  the  swift-revolving  wheel  ! 
In  gracious  pity  let  me  once  more  feel 
The  dews  that  gather  in  the  quiet  hours. 
And  drop  their  freshness  on  Life's  drooping  flowers, 
My  spirit's  urn  refill.  __ 

Oh  !  for  the  calm  it  craves  ! 
For  one  still  hour  amid  this  'wildering  range  ! 
In  life's  great  whirlpool  of  unceasing  change, 
Is  there  no  vortex  where  the  soul  may  stay, 
And  feel  not  e'en  the  dashing  of  the  spray 

From  off  the  outer  waves  ? 


56  DEW-DROPS. 

Must  the  great  rush  go  on, 
And  bear  forever  on  its  foaming  tide 
Our  weak,  resisting  spirits,  till  they  glide 
Into  the  unknown  harbor  spread  before, 
Whose  billows  break  on  the  eternal  shore, 

Where  life  and  death  are  one  ? 

The  Spring  may  bloom  again, 
But  ne'er  can  waken  with  her  fragrant  breath 
The  withered  blossoms  of  our  household  wreath- 
The  missing  voices  in  the  choir  of  home 
No  more  with  love  and  tenderness  will  come 

To  mingle  in  life's  strain. 

The  heart  grows  old  so  soon. 
When  on  the  freshness  that  its  opening  gave. 
There  falls  the  chill  and  shadow  of  the  grave  ! 
When  care  encircles  with  its  cumbering  shroud, 
And  sorrows  loom  around  us  like  a  cloud. 

We  weary  'ere  the  noon. 

But  though  our  hearts  may  cry 
For  rest  and  peace  to  come  with  healing  balm, 
Do  we  indeed  desire  a  brooding  calm  ? 


DEW-DROPS.  57 

Would  we  that  brighter,  happier  days  should  last, 
And  be  again  as  in  the  golden  past, 
Until  earth's  glories  die? 

Ah  !  'tis  not  ours  to  know 
The  secret  springs  that  move  the  soul  of  man. 
The  hidden  purpose  in  the  Maker's  plan  ; 
We  feel  the  thrilling  of  the  magic  thread 
That  binds  us  to  the  mysteries  of  the  dead, 

But  follow  not  their  flow. 

In  the  world's  great  design, 
'Tis  change  alone  that  gives  existence  power  ; 
Still  water  stagnates — from  the  growing  flower 
Unto  the  systems  that  revolve  in  space, 
'Tis  one  wide,  universal  law,  whose  trace 

Is  of  a  Hand  Divine. 

And  thus  the  world  within. 
Must  move  in  endless  progress  toward  its  goal, 
The  final  home  of  the  immortal  soul  ; 
Our  strength  of  being  gathers  on  the  way, 
Our  natures  deepen,  widen,  as  the  day 

With  cloud  and  storm  grows  dim. 


58  DEW-DROPS. 

And  could  the  past  return, 
'Twould  wear  no  more  the  olden  morning  glow — 
The  founts  of  gladness  vary  as  they  flow, 
Our  needs  enlarge — desire  is  higher-toned — 
The  fires  of  buried  by-gone  joys  alone 

On  Memory's  altar  burn. 

Thus  pass  life's  changes  on. 
All  that  we  are,  or  have  been,  soon  will  seem 
The  dim  and  gliding  phantom  of  a  dream  ; 
And  Time  itself  the  vapor  of  an  hour. 
The  drop  that 'sparkles  on  the  sunht  flower, 

And  while  we  gaze  is  gone. 

Oh  !  could  we  bear  aright 
The  overturnings  of  our  Father's  hand, 
And  know  each  change  to  lasting  good  redound  ; 
Might  but  the  fading  of  each  pictured  scroll, 
Fix  on  th'  immortal  canvas  of  the  soul 

The  hues  forever  bright  ; 

Then  hope  would  soar  above, 
A-nd  bathe  her  pinions  in  ethereal  light, 
And  crown  her  brow  with  heaven's  stars  of  night, 
That  in  the  dark  with  added  lustre  stand  : 


DEW-DROPS.  50 

While  Faith  would  sit  with  meekly  folded  hand, 
In  patient  trust  and  love  ; 

Believing  that  once  more 
The  voice  we  long  with  aching  heart  to  hear, 
Will  break  in  angel  music  on  the  ear  ; 
And  the  departed  from  our  household  band, 
In  the  green  pastures  of  the  Spirit-land, 

Be  ours  for  evermore. 


NEPENTHE. 

tHERE  are  moments  when  life's  brightness  seem- 
j       eth  wholly  passed  away, 
When  no  sunbeam    rifts    the  shadows    that    upon    our 

spirits  stay  ; 
When  the  future  holds  no  promise,  and  no  consolation 

finds, 
And  we  fain  would  drug  our  memories  that  will  speak  of 

happier  times  ; 
When  the  lip  and  eye  are  weary  forcing  forth  the  unfelt 

smile  ; 
And  the  voice  of  Hope  no  longer  can  the  saddened 

heart  beguile. 


60  D'EW- DROPS. 

On  my  soul  this  mood  had  Hngered,  and  despair's  o'er- 

shadowing  wings 
Hid  from  view  the  stars  that  beacon  on  to  higher,  better 

things. 
Life  had  lost  its  aim  and  purpose,  drear  and  dark  the 

pathway  loomed, 
Through  the  wastes  of  blank  existence  henceforth  and 

forever  doomed. 
One  by  one  the  ties  seemed  breaking,  leaf  by  leaf  the 

blossoms  fell. 
Drop  by  drop  the  springs  of  comfort  dried  in  Faith's 

neglected  well. 

And  with  discontented  murmur,  did  the  soul  its  lot 
repine — 

*' Why  amid  the  light  hearts  round  me,  falls  the  dark- 
ness over  mine  ? 

Will  it  thus  be  so  forever  ?  Must  the  brightest  beaming 
ray, 

Just  as  life  has  learned  to  prize  it,  fade  in  utter  gloom 
away?" 

Low  a  voice  of  calm  rebuking  broke  the  loud  ungrateful 
wail — 

■ '  Hast  thou  numbered  all  thy  blessifigs — are  they  bal- 
anced in  the  scale?" 


DEW-DROPS.  61 

Like  the  deadened  hush  that  follows  on  the  tempest's 
wildest  wrath, 

Or  lull  in  the  lion's  roaring,  as  he  scents  his  victim's 
path, 

Fell  that  whisper  of  reproving,  bidding  all  the  tumult 
cease, — 

As  on  Galilee's  dark  waters  yet  again  commanding, 
"Peace!" 

Barring  all  complaining  further,  with  those  tones  that 
may  not  fail — 

"Hast  thou  numbered  all  thy  blesshigs — are  they  bal- 
anced in  the  scale  ?" 

Is  it  not  thus  vvith  us  ever?     Some  o'erwhelming  grief 

may  cast 
Every  rippling  wave  of  gladness  back  upon  the  billows 

past. 
In  the  one  great  present  trouble,   that  upon  the  heart 

may  stay, 
We  forget  the  thousand  blessings  daily  scattered  round 

our  way. 
Some  bright  boon  denied  our  asking,  some  fair  hope 

forever  flown, 
Make  us  deem  no  lot  so  lonely,  so  forsaken  as  our  own. 


62  DEW-DROPS. 

Ah  !  we  may  not  know  the  sadness  twining  through 
another's  hfe, 

All  the  deep  despairing  anguish,  all  the  bitter  hours  of 
strife.  ^    * 

What  though  gay  the  laugh  is  ringing,  though  the  num- 
bers smoothly  flow, 

Heaven  keeps  the  balance  even,  and  we  fathom  not 
below  ; 

What  to  us  may  seem  an  atom  floating  through  a  sum- 
mer air, 

May  from  out  another's  pathway  blot  the  beams  of  sun- 
light there. 

Never,  by  our  lives  comparing  with  a  seeming  happier 
fate, 

Can  we  reach  a  true  existence  w^here  contentment's  joys 
await. 

Turn  to  those  whose  name  is  legion,  with  a  pitying- 
thought  of  love, 

To  the  homeless  and  the  outcast,  that  in  earth's  low 
places  rove  ; 

To  the  sick  whose  nerves  of  being  all  the  floods  of  suf- 
fering lave  ; 

And  to  those  whose  hope  of  refuge  lies  but  in  a  nameless 
grave. 


DEW-DROPS.  63 

Oh  !  a  hymn  of  pure  thanksgiving  should  from  grate- 
ful hearts  be  poured, 

And  we  find  our  great  Nepenthe  in  the  blessings  freely 
showered. 

Ocean's  vast  upheaving  billows  sound  above  the  coral 
groves — 

'Tis  the  blackest  cloud  of  midnight  that  the  brightest 
lightning  loves — 

From   the  rock  out  gushed  the  waters,  and  the  same 
Almighty  Power, 

Yet  can  draw  the  draughts  of  gladness  from  the  rock  of 
sorrow's  hour. 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    SUNBEAM. 

A  M  born  of  Light  and  I  dart  through  space 
With  a  swifter  wing  than  a  thought's  wild  race  ; 
I  speed  toward  earth  and  the  boundless  blue 
I  cleave  with  the  flight  of  an  arrow  through. 
On  the  mountain  top  with  a  smile  I  rest, 
While  the  shadows  roll  from  the  valley's  breast, 


64  DEW-DROPS. 

And  the  mists  that  rise  off  the  streams  below, 
I  gather  and  toss  in  a  golden  glow  ; 
From  the  hands  of  Night,  I  the  sceptre  gain, 
And  she  backward  glides  with  her  starry  train 
The  powers  of  the  dark  to  my  claim  resign — 
Oh  !  a  joyous  life  and  a  gift  is  mine. 

With  amber  I  touch  each  quivering  tree, 
Where  the  western  breezes  are  wandering  free 
With  the  waving  shadows  I  sport  and  play, 
And  diamonds  are  born  in  my  early  ray  ; 
The  laugh  of  the  brook  has  a  sweeter  ring 
In  the  sparkling  glow  of  the  light  I  bring  ; 
And  the  song  of  the  bird  is  sounding  clear, 
When  the  orient  beam  of  the  morn  is  near  ; 
The  fairest  of  liUies  owes  purity, 
And  the  queenliest  rose,  its  blush,  to  me. 
On  the  Autumn  woods  I  have  cast  my  sign, — 
Oh  !  a  joyous  life  and  a  gift  is  mine. 

I  drink  in  the  foam  of  the  ocean  wave, 
And  pierce  to  the  depths  of  its  coral  cave  ; 
From  crest  to  crest  of  the  billowy  surge, 
I  bound  to  the  far  horizon's  verge. 


DEW-DROPS.  65 

Till  my  weary  form  has  been  rocked  to  sleep 
In  the  cradle  home  of  the  mighty  deep. 
On  the  floating  clouds  I  have  set  my  seal, 
And  a  silver  lining  will  each  reveal  ; 
On  the  gray  old  rocks  where  the  mosses  cling, 
A  radiance  softened  and  bright  I  fling  ; 
And  a  tender  light  o'er  the  rugged  pine — 
Oh  !  a  joyous  life  and  a  gift  is  mine. 

From  the  icy  pole  of  the  Arctic  deep, 

Where  the  frozen  breath  of  the  Northlands  sweep, 

To  the  arid  sands  that  in  terror  fly 

When  the  dread  Sirocco  is  rushing  by, — 

From  the  frigid  zone  to  the  burning  line. 

The  earth  will  stir  at  a  touch  of  mine. 

I  have  sent  o'er  the  waters  a  wealth  of  smiles. 

And  lit  with  glory  a  hundred  isles  ; 

My  bow  I  have  hung  on  Niagara's  brow, 

And  I've  circled  with  flame  the  Alpine  snow  ; 

Through  the  crystal  boughs  of  the  North  I  shine, — 

Oh  !  a  joyous  life  and  a  gift  is  mine. 

I  linger  not  long  in  the  rich  man's  hall, 
The  boon  of  my  presence  is  free  for  all ; 


eei  DEW-DROPS. 

On  the  lowliest  home  the  world  can  know, 
I  joy  the  light  of  my  glance  to  throw. 
On  the  forest  hut,  through  the  green  arcades, 
I  gleefully  dance  with  the  sylvan  shades  ; 
On  the  crowded  streets  of  the  busy  town, 
I  am  flinging  a  ray  of  gladness  down  ; 
With  the  poor  man's  child  I  love  to  play, 
And  an  elfin  kiss  on  his  forehead  lay, 
With  his  tangled  curls  my  beams  entwine, — 
Oh  !  a  joyous  life  and  a  gift  is  mine. 

To  the  prison  cell  for  a  space  I  turn. 
And  a  defter  thought  will  a  moment  burn 
In  the  hardened  heart  of  the  wretch  whose  life 
Has  been  with  his  God  and  man  at  strife. 
The  marble  tomb  with  my  gold  I  lave. 
And  gently  rest  on  the  grass-grown  grave. 
I  brown  with  a  touch  the  laborer's  cheeks. 
Of  an  honest  life  of  toil  it  speaks  ; 
'Tis  a  noble  sign  he  may  proudly  wear 
To  attest  his  birthright  to  sun  and  air  ; 
In  his  cottage  home  I  delight  to  shine, — 
Oh  !  a  joyous  life  and  a  gift  is  mine. 

I  come  with  a  balm  to  the  wounded  heart, 


DEW-DROPS.  67 

Where  grief  and  sorrow  have  fixed  their  dart, 

And  gaily  I  bid  it  no  longer  pine, 

But  brightness  catch  from  a  ray  of  mine. 

A  blessing  I  breathe  o'er  the  sick  man's  bed, 

And  a  benison  leave  by  the  couch  of  the  dead  ; 

To  weary  and  worn,  and  aged,  I  bring 

A  remembering  glow  of  their  earlier  Spring. 

All  nations  and  climes  at  my  advent  rejoice — 

Oh  !  gratefully  raise  unto  Heaven  your  voice, 

For  I  come  from  the  hand  of  a  Father  Divine, 

And  a  beautiful  life  and  a  gift  is  mine. 


ANOTHER    YEAR. 

First  Month  ist,  1877. 

ig  N  O  T  H  E  R  year  !  the  knell  of  time 
Has  sounded  its  departing  doom. 
And  carved,  with  every  farewell  chime, 
It's  name  upon  the  Ages'  tomb. 

They  press  us  on — the  thronging  years — 
They  pause  not  at  our  joy  or  woe, 

But,  burdened  with  life's  hopes  and  fears, 
They  swiftly  round  the  months  and  go. 


68  DEW-DROPS. 

And  still  the  golden  sun  looks  down  ; 

The  same  cold  moon  her  course  fulfils  ; 
And,  all  about  us,  smile  or  frown, 

In  grandeur  the  eternal  hills. 

The  rippling  brook  still  floweth  on 
To  greet  the  ever  restless  sea, 

And  by  its  side,  the  wild-bird's  song 
Fills  yet  the  air  with  melody. 

All  Nature  in  her  aspect  wears 

The  glowing  of  earth's  dawning  ray  ; 

And  on  her  page  a  thousand  years 
Bear  but  the  hues  of  yesterday. 

But  we  grow  old,  as  one  by  one, 

The  new  years  hasten  from  our  view. 

As  dropping  water  wears  the  stone, 

Their  passage  marks  our  features  too. 

Still  life  and  death  speed  on  the  same. 
And  'whelm  us  in  their  flowing  tide. 

We  joyed  when  Spring's  first  violets  came, 
And  sorrowed  when  the  asters  died. 


DEW-DROPS.  G9 

And  over  many  a  pulseless  heart, 

We've  folded  lifeless  hands  of  clay, 

And  sadly  laid  the  mortal  part 

Of  loved  ones  in  the  grave  away. 

Ah  !  these  are  stones  that  mark  our  way, 
That  keep  our  reckoning  sure  and  fast, 

The  mighty  links  that  bind  to-day 
Forever  with  the  distant  past. 

The  whirl  of  life,  the  rush  of  time. 

May  bear  us  still  resistless  on, 
Till,  'mid  the  world's  great  clash  or  chime, 

We  pause  to  note  the  moments  gone, 

And  mark  the  certain  laws  of  change, 
That  rule  the  powers  of  earth  and  air, 

That  o'er  the  mind's  extended  range 
Fling  varied  banners,  dark  and  fair  ; 

And  note  the  shadows  grow  apace, 

And  lengthen  from  the  nearing  west. 

As  from  our  sky  the  day-star  glides, 
And  pauses  on  the  evening's  crest. 


70  DEW-DROPS. 

And  we  shall  pass  to  be  no  more, 

And  others  with  their  smiles  and  tears, 

Will  hold  the  book  of  life  in  hand, 
And  turn  the  pages  of  the  years. 


''AM    I    MY    BROTHER'S    KEEPER?" 

In  1773,  a  family  of  Friends,  consisting  of  parents  and  seven 
children,  moved  into  the  city  of  Philadelphia  from  Virginia, 
The  arrival  of  this  family  amongst  Friends  "awakened  a 
care  and  tender  concern  on  their  account,  particularly  re- 
specting the  children,  who  if  not  especially  guarded  and 
watched  over,  would  be  exposed  to  various  temptations  in 
the  city,  where  vanity  and  many  evils  were  sorrowfully 
prevalent;"  so  some  of  the  most  weighty  Friends  of  the 
Monthly  Meeting  were  appointed  to  have  a  care  over  them, 
viz  :  Samuel  Emlen,  Samuel  Smith,  Samuel  Hopkins,  Charles 
West  and  Henry  Drinker. 

[5  Y  E ,  noble  the  deeds  that  our  fathers  have  done. 
Unsullied  and  pure  in  their  wisdom  and  truth  ; 
But  few  can  outvie  with  this  record  of  one 
Guarding  and  guiding  the  innocent  youth. 


DEW-DROPS.  71 

Fresh  from  the  freedom  of  forest  and  hill,  ' 

From  breezes  and  scenes  that  to  Nature  belong, 

Little  they'd  reck  of  the  danger  and  ill, 

That  lurks  in  the  city's  vast  tumult  and  throng. 

There  the  song  of  the  syren  floats  out  on  the  night. 
And  sin  stalks  abroad  in  the  glare  of  the  noon  ; 

Temptations  assail  until  wrong  seemeth  right, 

And  pleasure's  enchantments  weave  bright  webs  of 
doom. 

Alone  and  unaided,  the  true  from  the  false 

They  scarce  could  discern  'mid  the  glitter  and  show  ; 

Their  senses,  led  captive  by  tinsel  and  dross. 

Might  note  not  the  worthlessness  hidden  below. 

In  "  letters  of  gold  "  let  this  act  be  enrolled 
On  our  annals  of  time  for  posterity's  gaze,_ 

The  care  that  has  shielded  the  lambs  of  the  fold 
From  the  jaw  of  the  wolf  in  the  earlier  days. 

And  is  it  designed  by  the  Father  of  all, 

The  righteous  unheeding  should  journey  along. 

Ignoring  the  weak,  who  may  stumble  and  fall. 

Where  the  hand  of  a  brother' d   make  valiant  and 
strong  ? 


72  DEW-DROPS. 

And  we,  who  are  least,  with  no  might  of  our  own, 
Have  a  call  and  a  mission  we  cannot  evade  ; 

From  the  low  haunts  of  sin  to  the  steps  of  the  Throne, 
Our  paths  intersected  with  others  are  laid. 

As  the  ripples  spread  out  when  a  pebble  we  send 
On  the  waters  all  silent  and  placid  before, 

So  the  waves  of  our  influence  round  us  extend, 
Only  to  break  on  eternity's  shore. 

Tho'  the  zeal  of  our  fathers  seems  waning  to-day. 

There  are  hearts  still  as  warm  in  the  cause  as  of  old. 

Intent  to  be  found  as  true  guides  on  the  way, 
To  gather  and  lead  to  the  Heavenly  fold. 


RAINY    DAYS. 


tR  E  A  R  I  L  Y  fall  the  rain  drops  down, 
Over  the  valley-lands  and  hills, 
Heavily  pressing  the  leaves  of  brown 
Into  the  graves  the  wild  wind  fills. 


DEW-DROPS.  73 

Sombre  and  dark  is  the  world  around, 
Leaden  and  gray  the  clouds  on  high, 

The  wailing  blast  with  a  mournful  sound 
Is  rushing  fitful  and  fiercely  by. 

Yet,  I  love  a  day  and  a  scene  like  this, 

Filled  with  the  beating  of  wind  and  rain. 

The  hollow  voice  of  the  eddying  gust — 
The  furious  dash  on  the  crystal  pane. 

Not  with  the  bounding  joyous  thrill 

That  greets  the  morning  of  green  and  gold, 

Nor  yet  the  calm  which  our  spirits  feel 
When  sunset's  beads  of  rose  are  told, 

But  like  as  the  mist  of  a  summer  night 
Dimly  uprising  from  stream  and  dell. 

Half  hideth,  half  holdeth  the  moonbeam's  light 
As  in  the  braid  of  a  fairy  spell  ; 

So  thoughts  that  are  tinged  with  a  mellow  glow, 
Illumed  by  joy,  yet  in  sadness  veiled. 

The  heart  and  the  brain  will  overflow 

On  a  day  like  this, by  the  storm  assailed. 


74  DEW-DROPS. 

Memories  come  with  the  mist  and  gloom, 
Fraught  with  a  chastened,  tender  power 

Buds  of  the  past  in  the  present  bloom  ; 
Castles  of  air  to  the  heavens  tower. 

Back  o'er  the  pathway  of  life  I  tread, 
And  live  again  thro'  its  rainy  hours  ; 

The  way  w^as  dark,  but  at  last  it  led 

Out  in  the  sunshine  among  the  flowers. 

Ah  !  wisely  is  hid  from  our  ardent  gaze 
The  joys  and  sorrows  that  lie  in  store  ; 

The  present  is  ours,  let  us  catch  its  rays, 
Obtain  its  blessing,  and  ask  no  more. 

If  but  the  light  of  a  Saviour's  smile 

Be  found  the  lining  of  cloud  and  haze, 
The  tempest's  wrath  can  ne'er  defile 
With  lengthened  gloom  our  rainy  days. 

For  these  to  the  brightest  hopes  will  come, 
Causing  the  beauty  of  earth  to  flee  ; 

But  the  promise  remaineth  forever  sure. 
That  *  *  as  thy  day  thy  strength  shall  be. ' ' 


DEW-DROPS.  75 


PARTING. 

WRITTEN  IN  REMEMBRANCE  OF  T.  S.,  AND  READ  AT  THE 
CLOSING  MEETING  OF  A  "READING  AND  LITERARY  AS- 
SOCIATION." 

^Jj^ARTING  !  'tis  the  watchword  ringing  over  earth 

^^     its  mournful  dirge, 

Ever   sounding   its   sad    requiem    unto  life's    extremest 

verge  ; 
Veiling   sunshine  with  its  shadow,  dimming  all  of  fair 

and  bright, 
With  the  chill  blight  of  its  presence  ever   pressing  on 

our  sight. 
We  are  met  to-night  to  sever — past  the  Winter's  even- 
ing hours. 
Whose  cold  reign  was  made  to  blossom  with  the  heart's 

unfading  flowers. 
Blooms    of  amaranthine    beauty  in    our  social  warmth 

unfold — 
Spray  from  intellectual  fountains  keep  alive  the  green* 

and  gold — 
And  the  pureness  of  each  motive  is  the  fragrance  of  the 

flower, 


76  DEW-DROPS. 

Casting  over   all  the  perfume  of  a  sweet   unconscious 

power. 
To  the  harmonies  of  pleasure  we  have  felt  our  pulses 

thrill, 
Now,  one    common    link  of  sorrow   binds   our  natures 

closer  still. 
When  we  gathered,  ere  the   Autumn  cast  her  golden 

sceptre  down, 
Ere  the  blackbird  ceased  his  chirping  on  the  woodland's 

leafy  crown,  - 
There  was  one  who  walked  among  us  in  his  manhood's 

royalty. 
One  who  felt  himself  a  brother  unto  all  humanity. 
Now  we  wait  in  vain  to  welcome  kindly  voice  and  smile 

of  cheer. 
And  our  vision  greets  no  longer  face  and  form  to  mem- 
ory dear. 
Gone,  beyond    our   faint    recalling,   out   into   the    dark 

unknown, 
Where  our  yearning  gaze  may  follow  with  the  eye  of 

faith  alone  ; 
Upward   through    the   mist   and   shadow,  we  may  thus 

behold  him  stand 
In  the  glorious  radiance  streaming  from  the  bright  and 

better  land. 


DEW-DROPS.  ■  Ti 

Where  the  chorus  of  the  angels  swells  upon  the  hea- 

enly  shore, 
And  where   sorrow,   death,  and   sighing  flee   away  for 

evermore. 
Oh  !  'tis    not  for   him    our   mourning,  who    we   firmly 

trust  is  now 
With  the  Father's  Hand  of  blessing  pressed  upon  his 

ransomed  brow, 
But  we  sadly  miss  his  presence,  in  our  homes,  and  by 

the  way — 
Ever  ready  on  our  altars,  tender  sympathy  to  lay, —     , 
Ever    lending    to    another    helping    hand    and    willing 

ear, — 
"  Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens,"  had  for  him  a  mean- 
ing clear. 
Showing  by  a  bright  example  what  a   Christian's  life 

should  be. 
Walking  in  the  narrow  pathway  with  a  meek  humility. 
Ah  !  it  is  not  ours  to  question  why  heart-strings  so  pure 

in  tune,  " 
Must  be  broken  into  fragments  with  life's    sunlight   at 

its  noon  ; 
Why  the  loving  heart  be  widowed  who  in.  all  his  joys 

had  share, 


78  *  DEW-DROPS. 

And  the  little  ones  so  early  left  without  a  father's  care. 
These  can  take  the  gracious  promise  of  their  Heavenly 

Master  home, 
Unto  whose  embrace  the  widjow  and  the  fatherless  may 

come  ; 
Feeling  that  in  every  trial  lieth  hid  the  germ  of  love, 
Meant   to   bear   immortal  fruitage   in  the  spirit-bowers 

above. 
To  us  all  is  warning  given  ;  that,  whene'er  our  summons 

come, 
We  may  go  to  join  our  loved  ones  in  their  blest  eternal 

home, 
Who  as  guardian-angels  hover  round  about  the  jasper 

Throne, 
Where  the  severed  meet  forever,  and  where  parting  is 

unknown. 


MY    CHILDHOOD'S    HOME. 
H  E  sunbeams  rest  with  a  tender  light 
'^     On  the  place  of. my  childhood's  home, 
Arid  smile  thro'  the  waving  boughs  as  bright 

As  in  other  days  they  shone. 


DEW-DROPS.  70 

The  brooklet's  music  is  sounding  still 

From  the  bank  where  the  violets  grew  ; 

It  wakes  in  my  heart  the  oldefi  thrill 
The  spring  of  my  lifetime  knew. 

But  the  hand  of  the  stranger  trains  the  vine 

That  climbs  by  the  lattice  now, 
And  decked  for  other  eyes  than  mine 

Is  the  fragrant  lilac  bough. 
The  oriole  builds  his  swinging  nest 

In  the  spot  he  has  chosen  long  ; 
But  I  watch  no  more  the  flaming  breast 

Swell  forth  with  its  tide  of  song. 

The  pictures  throng  on  Memory's  walls, 

Oh,  home  of  my  early  years  ! 
Loved  voices  speak,  then  the  silence  falls, 

And  mine  eyes  are  dimmed  with  tears. 
Oh  !  orchard  blooms,  that  have  drifted  down 

On  forms  that  are  passed  away, 
Oh  !  path  by  familiar  footsteps  worn, 

Ye  sadden  the  heart  to-day  ! 

Here  on  the  porch  the  moonlight  fell. 
Thro'  the  peace  of  the  summer  night ; 


80  DEW-DROPS. 

The  evening  star  o'er  yon  sunset  hill, 
I've  watched  till  it  sunk  from  sight ; 

Here  is  the  room  where  the  dear  home  band, 
By  the  winter  fireside  met, — 

Oh  !  it  needeth  not  the  enchanter's  wand, 
For  my  vision  to  greet  it  yet. 

Here — softly  tread — for  the  hand  of  time 

Is  pressed  on  the  heartstrings  now, 
The  quivering  cords  with  an  anguished  chime, 

Give  forth  but  a  sound  of  woe, 
*  That  gathers  strength  as  the  years  roll  on, 

And  the  seasons  go  and  come, 
For  here  the  soul  of  our  sainted  one 

Went  up  to  her  Father's  home. 

Aye,  sacred  still  unto  every  thought, 

Each  spot  that  her  presence  blest  ; 
Ah  !  mother  dear,  there  are  changes  wrought 

In  our  old  loved  valley  nest. 
Can  thy  spirit  look  from  its  glorious  height, 

On  thy  struggling  children  here, 
Who  may  only  walk  by  faith,  not  sight, 

And  who  miss  thy  guide  and  cheer  ? 


DEW-DROPS.  81 

We  have  passed  beyond  that  roof-tree's  shade  ; 

Life's  noonday  of  toil  is. ours  ; 
But  as  thou  taught  us,  still  we  strive 

To  cherish  its  wayside  flowers  : 
And  though  at  times  our  hearts  may  yearn 

For  some  beautiful  moment  o'er, 
And  unto  the  dear  old  homestead  turn 

With  longing,  intense  and  sore, 

Yet  we  feel  that  a  wiser  Hand  than  ours 

Hath  guided  and  planned  our  day. 
Poured  blessings  down  in  the  richest  showers, 

And  chastened  in  love  alway  : 
And  we  mourn  no  more  the  vanished  past, 

But  treasure  it  sweet  and  pure, 
To  be  held  as  a  gracious  memory  fast, 

While  reason  and  time  endure. 


82  DEW-DROPS, 

MORNING. 

fH  !  beautiful,  golden  Morning, 
Set  in  the  crown  of  day, 
Like  a  jewel  whose  living  lustre 

Must  gladden  the  heart  alway, 
I  hail  with  pulses  bounding 

The  gleam  of  thy  early  light. 
And  the  cares  that  hfe  o'ershadow 

Fall  back  with  the  veil  of  night  ; 
Or,  like  yon  mists  of  the  valley, 

That  over  the  streamlets  stand, 
Their  gray  is  changed  to  amber. 

By  the  touch  of  thy  magic  hand. 

The  leaves  of  the  willows  tremble 

With  thy  soft  air  passing  through, 
The  grass  on  th'  lawn  and  meadow 

Is  starred  with  quivering  dew. . 
The  breath  of  the  woodbine  floateth 

In  at  the  open  door. 
The  twitter  of  wren  and  sparrow 

Sounds  cheery  and  blythe  before  : 
From  far  and  near  re-echo 

The  tone  of  Nature's  lyre  ; 


DEW-DROPS.  83 

The  voices  of  earth's  awakening- 
Swell  to  a. mighty  choir. 

% 

Sink,  Oh  !  beautiful  Morning, 
'    Deep  in  the  hearts  of  all  ; 

Let  the  plummet  line  of  thy  brightness 
Down  thro'  our  darkness  fall. 

Let  the  laborer  feel  the  purest 
Influence  thou  canst  wield. 

As  he  passes  the  w^oodland  covert 
And  hies  o'er  the  spangled  field. 

Deeper  than  sign  or  symbol. 
Let  his  vision  of  spirit  go, 

Turning  to  course  unwonted. 
His  thoughts'  unceasing  flow. 

Let  us  learn  of  thee,  O  Morning, 

A  lesson  of  hope  and  truth. 
Drinking  with  thee  the  water 

From  the  fount  of  eternal  youth  ! 
Bearing  life's  early  freshness 

On  thro'  the  noontide  heat, 
Finding  the  path  still  golden, 

When  sunset  and  twilight  meet  ; 


84  DEW-DROPS. 

And,  shed  in  the  calm  and  quiet, 
May  the  dew  of  peace  be  ours, 

To  nourish  for  bloom  hereafter 
The  heart's  immortal  flowers. 


OUR    HILLS. 

fH  E  Y  sound  the  praise  of  other  lands, 
They  tell  us  of  the  castled  Rhine, 
Upon  whose  storied  margin  stands 

The  memory  of  an  ancient  time  : 
The  highland  of  the  frozen  North 

The  poet's  pen  with  rapture  fills, 
But  rarely  breaks  the  minstrel  forth 
In  singing  of  our  native  hills. — 

Our  hills  of  green,  our  hills  of  snow, 

Of  every  varied  hue  and  form. 
With  sunshine's  dazzling  light  aglow, 

Or  dark'ning  grandly  in  the  storm  ; 
Empiled  with  rocks,  adorned  with  flowers, 

Or  waving  with  the  summer  grain  ; 
Or  crowned  with  lofty  forest  towers. 

Whose  music  swells  a  low  refrain  ; 


DEW-DROPS.  86 

With  streamlets  rippling  at  their  feet  ; 

Above,  the  cloudland  and  the  sky  ; 
All  glistening  with  the  winter  sleet, 

Or  gorgeous  with  the  Autumn  dye. 
In  every  change  that,  passing  o'er, 

The  olden  promised  course  fulfils, 
We  need  to  pause,  and  more  and  more 

Admire  the  beauty  of  our  hills. 

They  rise  around  us  grand  as  when 

The  morjiing  stars  together  sung  ; 
When,  at  the  voice  of  God,  the  earth 

From  chaos  to  existence  sprung. 
Unmoved  and  firm  their  bases  stand. 

While  race  on  race  have  passed  away, — 
The  features  of  a  pleasant  land. 

The  monuments  of  yesterday. 

And  all  among  these  peaceful  slopes, 

The  dear  homes  nestle  of  our  time. 
Each  freighted  with  its  human  hopes. 

That  teem  in  every  age  and  clime. 
The  smoke  from  many  a  peaceful  hearth 

Goes  upward  to  the  purer  blue. 
And  in  its  ascent  breathes  the  worth 

Of  fireside  joys  so  warm  and  true. 


86  DEW-DROPS. 

And  thus  we  linger,  day  by  day, 

Amid  the  forms  of  great  and  small, 
That  to  the  humble  but  convey 

The  praise  of  Him  who  made  them  all. 
The  heart  that  only  can  adore 

The  Boundless  Love  which  underlies 
This  beauty,  is  preparing  for 

The  glorious  heights  of  Paradise. 


LINES. 

Written  on  the  occasion  of  Senator  Revels'  first  speech,  in  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States,  Third  Month  i6th,  7870. 

fH  E  world  moves  on  apace.     Still,  one  by  one, 
Oppression's  fiends  are  driven  from  the  earth. 
The  mist  of  prejudice  and  error  melt 
Like  morning  vapor  in  the  noonday  sun  ; 
The  blinded  eyes  have  opened  to  the  light. 
And  Heaven's  miracles  are  working  still 
In  this  dark  land  of  ours.     Lift  up  the  head, 
O,  race  downtrodden,  humbled  and  despised. 
And  see  the  wonders  that  the  age  has  wrought 


DEW-DROPS.  87 

To-day  in  your  behalf.     Breathe  God's  free  air, 

With  manhood  honored  and  with  rights  maintained. 

This  day  has  Afric's  voice  been  heard  within 

The  Council  of  the  Nation,  and  the  sound. 

Proclaiming  free  equality  for  all, 

Is  wafted  as  a  grateful  incense  up 

Unto  the  ear  of  Justice.     Nevermore, 

The  shade  that  deepens  on  your  dusky  brows 

Shall  prove  you  all  unworthy  of  the  boon 

Of  home  and  country,  liberty  and  life. 

And,  with  the  blessing,  all  that  makes  life  dear. 

Long  have  ye  waited,  crying  unto  Him 

Who  never  fails  the  wronged  and  suffering  one  ; 

And  in  the  fulness  of  His  perfect  time 

The  fire-winged  answer  came,  and  all  your  woes 

Avenged,  and  offered  in  the  flame  that  rose 

From  off  the  blood-stained  altar  of  our  land. 

And  thus  'twill  be  forever.     In  God's  own  time, 
No  wrong  shall  go  unrighted  ;  every  yoke 
That  weighs  the  spirit  downward  unto  dust, 
Shall  yet  be  broken,  and  our  bondage  cease. 


88  DEW-DROP.%. 

INDIAN    SUMMER. 

f^  O  F  T  L  Y  and  dreamily  floateth  the  blue 
5     Of  the  Indian  Summer  the  atmosphere  through  ; 
Drowsily  lingers  on  forest  and  hill, 
The  spell  of  her  presence,  so  consciously  still. 
The  gold  of  her  sunshine  falls  mellowed  in  beam, 
Thro'  the  veil  that  enrobes  her,  on  woodland  and  stream. 
The  Sabbath  is  come  of  the  swift  rolling  year  ; 
The  calm  and  the  rest,  and  the  silence  are  here. 
The  worship  of  Nature  from  leaf-covered  sod, 
Like  incense  of  offering,  goes  up  unto  God. 
Her  toiling  is  over,  her  fruitage  is  done, 
She  hath  gained  the  repose  that  her  labor  hath  won  ; 
She  hath  cast  her  abundance  from  mountain  to  shore — 
The  wealth  of  the  season  in  basket  and  store  ; 
And  now,  as  the  Christian  whose  toil  has  been  long, 
Who  hath  vahantly  battled  with  evil  and  wrong, 
Pauses  to  feel  in  the  quietness  nigh, 
The  heavenly  dew  from  the  Day-spring  on  high, 
Though  knowing  that  still  in  the  pathway  before. 
Trouble  and  danger  lie  waiting  in  store  ; 
So  the  spirit  of  Nature  seems  pausing  to  rest, 
Ere  the  storm-clouds  of  Winter  sweep  over  her  breast ; 


HEW- DROPS.  89 

And  gathers  around  her  the  warmest  of  beams, 
The  softest  of  lights,  and  the  fairest  of  dreams. 
And  thus,  have  I  thought,  there  are  Hves  here  below, 
Whose  symbol  is  found  in  this  calmness  and  glow  ; 
Lives  who  have  borne  thro'  the  heat  of  the  day 
The  burdens  that  fall  unto  mortals  alway  ; 
Who  brightly  and  bravely  have  labored  to  fill 
Their  measure  of  good  thro'  their  portion  of  ill  ; 
Have  shed  light  around  thro'  their  long  golden  prime, 
And  borne  the  rich  fruits  in  their  Autumn  of  time. 
But  we  find,  as  they  come  to  the  close  of  their  year, 
Where  the  freshness  and  greenness  of  life  disappear, 
When  blossoms  are  gone  and  withered  leaves  fall, 
Their  Indian  Summer  the  ^lory  of  all — 
The  crown  of  their  days,  as  they  trustingly  wait 
On  the  threshold  of  Death  for  the  opep  pearl  gate, 
Now  touched  with  a  beauty  we  saw  not  before, 
A  radiance  cast  from  a  far  brighter  shore. 
Serenely  and  peacefully  passing  away    . 
Thro'  the  shadowy  vale  to  the  portals  of  Day. 


90  DEW-DROPS. 

DRIFTING. 

1^  N  E  by  one  our  days  are  drifting  downward  on  the 

X^     stream  of  Time — 

Slowly  is   the   veil  uplifting   from    the  future's  hidden 

shrine  : 
One  by  one  our  deeds  are  numbered  in  the  great  Re- 
cording Tome, 
To  be  opened  by  the  angel  when  we  stand  before  the 

Throne. 
Youth  is  vanishing  behind  us, — all  life's  threads  are  on 

the  loom. 
To  be  w^oven  into  brightness  or  be  marred  and  cut  in 

gloom. 
Can  it  be  that  we  are  standing  with  the  workers  of  our 

day  ? 
We,  from  whom  the  dew  of  morning  seemeth  scarcely 

passed  away  ? 
On  whose  senses  has  not  withered  all  the  pleasure  life 

bestows, 
And  whose  pulses  still  will  quicken  at  the  opening  of  the 

rose? 
All  our  rich  and  varied  blessings  we  are  holding  fast  and 
-  dear, 


DEW-DROPS.  91 

Still  unlearned  the  needful  lesson  that  the  storm-cloud 

may  be  near. 
When  the  air  is  filled  with  sunshine  and  the  blossoms 

deck  our  way, 
Hard  it  is  to  paint  the  picture  dark  and  cheerless,  cold 

and  gray  ; 
Yet  while  life  seems  great  .and  noble,   home  a  spot  of 

quiet  joy, 
All  the  world  so  full  of  beauty,  we  can  see  no  base 

alloy, 
We  may  be  serenely  drifting  past  the  isles  of  rest  and 

peace, 
That   await   the   weary   traveller  as  the  toil   and   heat 

increase. 
Though    our   hearts   may  be   uplifted   oft   in  gratitude 

above. 
Are  we  faithful  to  the  breathings  of  God's  manifested 

love? 
Do  we  bend  to  catch  each  whisper  of  the  "still,  small 

voice  "  within. 
Seeking,  with  most  earnest  purpose,  what  is  Truth,  and 

what  is  sin  ? 
Is  there  not  a  secret  danger  in  our  busy  lives  of  care, 
Of  the  Holy  Spirit's  teachings  being  slighted  unaware? 


92  DEW-DROPS. 

It  may  be  those  pure  monitions  we  had  thought  to  call 

our  own, 
When  we  pause  and  turn  to  heed  them,  are  perhaps  for- 
ever flown. 
Only  in  the  time  He  giveth  can  the  soul  salvation  find — 
To  the  horns  about  the  altar  we  the  sacrifice  must  bind  ; 
Not   by  drifting   with   the  current,  living   to   ourselves 

alone, — 
He  who  seeks  another's  welfare,  oftentimes  will  find  his 

own. 
May  we  more  and  more  awaken  to  the  labors  of  our  day, 
Ere  our  sun  be  past  the  zenith,  and  life's  fragrance  fled 

away  ; 
Keeping  ever  low  and  humble  at  the  blessed  Master's 

feet. 
To  be  taught  by  Him  and  guided  gently  to  the  mercy 

seat. 
And  the  years  will  lose  no  brightness,   but  an   added 

lustre  bring. 
And  we  find  our  Autumn  Gentians  fairer  than  the  flowers 

of  Spring. 


DEW-DROPS.  93 

TO    THE    MEMORY    Op'CHARLES 
EVANS. 
E  mourn  in  Israel  for  a  strong  one  gone, 
A  soldier  of  the  Cross, 
Taken  from  conflict  with  his  armor  on, 
Gathered  from  pain  and  loss. 

No  more  that  voice  in  thrilling  tones  of  power, 

Shall  guide  to  purer  day — 
Nor,  in  the  sittings  of  the  council  hour, 

Show  forth  the  surer  way. 

No  more  that  pen,  so  long  and  ably  borne, 

Will  trace  the  Master's  thought, — 
The  Ancient  Faith  upholding  in  the  form 

The  early  fathers  taught. 

From  youth  to  age  in  meek  and  reverent  fear. 

The  Christian's  path  he  trod, 
Counting  no  treasure  of  this  life  too  dear 

To  oifer  to  his  God. 

Proclaiming  ever  to  a  gazing  world 

The  reason  for  our  hope. 
Keeping  the  banner  on  the  wall  unfurled, 

Bearing  its  standard  up. 


94  DEW-DROPS. 

And  now,  O,  Friend,  beyond  the  Morning  star, 

The  crown  of  life  is  thine, 
Where  the  blest  homes  of  the  immortals  are 

Glowing  with  light  Divine. 

Again  earth's  Spring  hath  wakened  up  her  throng 

To  music,  life  and  cheer  ; 
It  is  but  discord  to  the  glorious  song 

That  breaks  upon  thine  ear. 

Thine  eye  hath  opened  on  a  fairer  Spring, 

Where  sorrows  haunt  no  breast, 
Where  all  of  care  is  a  forgotten  thing 

In  God's  eternal  rest. 

And  thpugh  we  mourn  thy  faithful  spirit  gone 

From  works  on  earth  away, 
The  bright  example  shineth  on  and  on, 

Unto  life's  perfect  day. 

And  He  who  guided  with  unerring  Hand, 

Beyond  Time's  farthest  shore. 
Still  waits  to  lead  into  the  promised  land 

His  children  evermore. 


DEW-DROPS.  95 

OUR    BIRTHRIGHT. 

E  may  not  trace  our  lineage  down 
Thro'  veins  where  royal  blood  has  flowed, 
Nor  find  our  heraldry  renowned 

For  valorous  deeds,  nor  wealth  of  gold  ; 
But  greater  than  the  emblazoned  arms 

And  crest  that  tell  of  noble  birth, 
Or  trophied  plume  of  war's  alarms, 
Our  record  of  ancestral  worth. 

We  wreathe  no  hero's  tomb  with  flowers, 

Nor  crown  with  laurel  nor  with  bay, 
Yet  never  grander  theme  than  ours 

For  history's  page  or  poet's  lay. 
The  priceless  heritage  we  claim, 

By  many  a  martyr's  blood  is  sealed, 
And  Time  can  boast  no  prouder  name 

Than  *'  Quaker,"  graven  on  his  shield. 

Why  turn  we  from  those  tenets  now, 

And  seek  to  find  an  easier  way  ? 
The  strength  to  stem  sin's  tidal  flow 

Was  ne'er  more  needed  than  to-day. 


96  DEW-DROPS. 

Still  round  our  hearts  on  every  side 
The  wily  Tempter's  baits  are  set  ; 

The  path  grows  not  more  straight  nor  wide 
Among  the  meshes  of  his  net. 

We  know  that  neither  form  nor  creed 

The  heavy-laden  soul  can  save  ; 
No  ritual  answers  to  our  need, 

No  vesture  brings  the  peace  we  crave  ; 
But  when  we  cross  the  billowy  sea, 

We  choose  a  vessel  staunch  and  tight, 
Tho'  knowing  still  our  lives  to  be 

In  hands  of  One  who  ordereth  right. 

And  sailing  on  lifes  ocean  wave, 

Oh  !  may  our  father's  ship  be  ours  ; 
The  honored  truths  they  died  to  save, 

Be  cherished  as  most  precious  dowers. 
Cast  not  the  smallest  tithe  away, 

Nor  let  another  wear  our  crown, 
But  down  the  ages  gain  for  aye 

An  added  lustre  and  renown. 

And  with  the  letter  of  our  faith, 

Oh  !  grant  the  spririt  cometh,  too  ; 


DEW-DROPS,  97 

That  we  may  prove  in  life  and  death, 

The  glory  of  our  Israel  true. 
Thus  anchored  on  the  eternal  Rock, 

Our  birthright  will  be  ours  indeed  ; 
And  neither  waves  or  tempest's  shock 

Can  move  the  bulwarks  of  our  creed. 


LINES. 
On  seeing  My  Father  reading  his  Marriage  Certificate. 

'.SP>  ^  ^  ^^^^^  ^^  ^^^"  ^"^  wasted  that  holds  the  parch - 

^&     ment  sheet. 

The  face  that  bends  above  it  with  lines  of  care's  re- 
plete, 

The  hair  upon  the  temples  is  spare  and  silver  white, 

And  the  eyes  so  weak  and  faded  have  lost  their  olden 
light. 

What  memories  crowd  upon  him,  the  lone  surviving 
one. 

Thus  waiting  at  life's  evening  the  setting  of  the  sun  ! 

Adown  the  far  dim  vistas  they  reach  that  long  ago, 


98  DEW-DROPS. 

When  the  tide  of  manhood  quickened  to  joyous  rhyth- 
mic flow. 
When  life  held  out  a  future  of  promise  and  of  hope, 
And  cast  in  rainbow  colors  a  brilliant  horoscope. 
There  was  much  of  earth  to  gladden,  there  was  all  to 

dare  and  do, 
And  the  blessing  of  the  Father  for  the  faithful  and  the 

true. 
He  reads  the  names  there  written  of  those  who  gathered 

then, — 
How  few  to-day  are  standing  among  the  ranks  of  men  ! 
And  she,   the  loved   and  cherished,  the  bride  of  early 

years — 
Ah  !    now  the  eyes  are  laden  with  the  precious  gift  of 

tears. 
A  spirit  mild  and  gentle,  adorned  with  virtues  rare, 
He  pictures  her  beside  him,  with  the  smile  she  used  to 

wear. 
They  toiled    through  noon  together — in  joy  and  grief 

were  one — 
Bore  each  the  other's  burdens,  and  cheered  with  loving 

tone  : 
But  when   the  shadows   lengthened,  and  the  pathway 

sloped  to  west. 


DEW-DROPS.  99 

She  passed  "beyond  the  river,"  and  entered  into  rest. 
We  watched    her   slowly  fading,  our   patient   suffering 

one, 
Until  there  came  the  summons,  her  work  on  earth  was 

done. 
A  memory  pure  and  tender  alone  is  left  us  now, 
No  time  can  dim  its  lustre,   no  power  its  might  o'er- 

throw. 

The  parchment-sheet  is  folded,  the  glasses  lain  aside. 
And  deep  in  revery  fallen  his  thoughts  beyond  us  glide  ; 
Beyond  these  narrow  confines,  out  into  broader  day. 
Where  every  tear  of  sorrow  his  God  shall  wipe  away. 
Sometimes,  methinks,  he  listens  to  spirit-voices  near, 
And  hears  celestial  music  fall  softly  on  his  ear. 
What  holds  the  world  more  lovely,  more  beautiful  than 

this, 
A  long   life  filled  with   goodness,   and  crowned  at  last 

with  bliss  ? 
But  see — a  baby-presence  is  clamoring  at  his  knee, 
And  baby-hands  are  lifted  to  his  imploringly  ; 
The   little    clinging    touches    have   power   to    bring   to 

earth. 
And  call  on  every  feature  the  smile  of  pleasure  forth. 


100  DEW-DROPS. 

He  wakens  to  the  present  with  all  the  child's  delight, — 
Oh  !  still  Hfe's  links  are  binding,  and  polished  clear  and 

bright  ; 
And  as  the  fair  head  nestles  so  closely  to  his  breast, 
And  aged  arms  encircle,  like  dove  within  its  nest, 
A  fervent  hope  will  waken,  a  mother's  prayer  arise, 
That  one  may,  like  the  other,  be  ripened  for  the  skies, 
And  find  a  welcome  entrance  at  the  gate  of  Paradise. 


BLOSSOMS. 

N  the  orchard,  down  the  lane. 
O'er  the  fields,  against  the  pane. 
Starring  all  the  springing  grass 
When  the  fresh' ning  breezes  pass, 
Thick  as  snowflakes  in  the  air. 
Blossoms,  blossoms,  everywhere. 

On  the  rough  and  rugged  wall, 
Pure  and  beautiful  they  fall, 
To  the  mossy  roof  they  cling, 
Pleasant  as  the  thoughts  they  bring. 
Making  earth  so  wondrous  fair. 
Blossoms,  blossoms,  everywhere. 


DEW-DROPS.  101 

Petals  soft  of  pink  and  white, 
Resting  like  a  cloud  of  light 
On  each  bending  twig  and  spray, 
Filling  all  the  air  of  May 
With  a  sweetness  rich  and  rare, 
Floating  round  us  everywhere. 

In  and  out  among  the  bloom, 
Flitting  with  a  merry  tune. 
Busy  choosing  them  a  home 
For  the  summer  months  to  come, 
Pass  the  tenants  of  the  air, 
Singing,  singing  everywhere. 

With  the  tip  of  waving  wing 
Snowy  showers  they  downward  fling, 
Pouring  notes  without  alloy 
In  an  ecstacy  of  joy  ; 
Blithe  the  unison  they  bear 
To  the  blossoms  everywhere. 

Moist  with  cool  and  fragrant  dew 
Heart  and  life  are  blossoming  too  ; 
All  my  senses  thrill  and  ring 
With  the  choral  of  the  Spring, 


102  DEW-DROPS. 

All  earth's  branches  bloom  and  bear 
Blossoms,  blossoms  everywhere. 

From  the  darkness  into  light, 
Shining  with  the  rose  and  white, 
With  the  rush  and  song  of  bird 
Is  my  path  of  being  stirred  ; 
May  I  bow  in  grateful  prayer 
For  the  blossoms  everywhere. 


OUR    MEETING. 


^   SOLEMN  hush  is  resting  o'er  the  aisles  our 
feet  have  trod, 
As  Friend  by  Friend  is  seated  where  we  meet  to  wor- 
ship God  : 
The  breath  of  silent  prayer  seems  throbbing  on  the  air, 
Arising  as  sweet  incense  from  burdened  hearts  of  care. 

My  thoughts,  alas,  are  wandering  like  the  raven,  to  and 

fro; 
I  seem  to  see  before  me  the  forms  of  long  ago. 


DEW-DROPS.  103 

From  hours  of  earliest  childhood  my  steps  have  hither 

turned, 
To  sit  in  living  silence,  or  hearken  words  that  burned  : 

Along  yon  gallery's  ranges,  now  almost  lone  and  bare, 
I've  gazed  with  earnest  reverence  on  crowns  of  snow- 
white  hair  : 
And  all  adown  these  benches,  so  thinly  peopled  now, 
Filed  ranks  of  men  and  women  in  solid  row  on  row. 

Ah  !    clear   to   memory's   vision,   some    cherished    ones 

arise. 
Who  oft,  I  love  to  fancy,  are  bending  from  the  skies. 
Their  viewless  spirits  hovering  as  guardian  angels  near, 
To  shield  from   harm  and  danger,   to  comfort  and  to 

cheer. 

The  shining  of  their  footsteps  to  us  is  radiant  y€4  ; 
Their  words  of  tender  counsel  we  never  shall  forget. 
The  lives  of  good  and  holy  the  farthest  regions  lave, 
The  circles  of  their  influence  extend  beyond  the  grave. 

And  here  these  vacant  places  a  language  speak  to-day, 
A  call  to  all  to  enter  the  strait  and  narrow  way. 
Though  but  a  feeble  remnant  of  better  days  are  we, 
Unworthy  as  successors,  we  feel  ourselves  to  be, 


104  DEW-DROPS. 

Yet  He  whose  power  is  mighty,  who  was  our  father's  God, 
Who  bringeth  Hght  from  darkness,  and  breath  to  soul- 
less clod. 
Can  still,  as  we  are  willing  to  yield  our  hearts  to  Him, 
Revive  our  ancient  glory,  now  vanishing  and  dim. 

Could  we  but  cast  our  anchor  beyond  life's  cumbering 

cares. 
Whose  many  varied  interests  absorb  us  unawares. 
And  with  a  purer  purpose,  a  holier  zeal  entwine. 
Then,  like  our  predecessors,  our  faithfulness  would  shine  : 

And  by  our  bright  example  might  other  feet  be  led, 
The  path  of  self-denial  and  humbleness  to  tread  ; 
For  e'en  the   least  among   us   may   wield   unconscious 
power,  ' 

As  on  the  air  is  wafted  the  perfume  of  a  flower. 

While  he,  unto  whose  senses  the  fragrant  breath  may 
come, 

May  scarce  discern  the  blossom  in  its  secluded  home. 

In  weakness  only  lieth  our  strength  to  be  and  do  ; 

As  drops  that  form  the  rainbow  with  sunlight  shimmer- 
ing through, 


DEW-DROPS.  105 

So  heart  and  life  must  brighten  with   beauty  not  our 

own, 
Ere  beams  the  bow  of  promise  our  Ark  of  Faith  upon  ; 
Then  will  the  walls  of  Zion  be  builded  as  before, 
And  all  her  bounds  of  glory  will  widen  evermore. 


A    MEMORY. 


fH  E  R  E  broods  a  stillness  in  the  early  gloaming, 
A  gense  of  quiet  rest, 
And  busy  thought  that  all  the  day  was  roaming, 
Now  settles  in  my  breast. 

With  peaceful  motion  beats  the  pulse  of  evenj^ 

And  out  from  yonder  star, 
There  seems  the  radiance  of  the  inner  heaven 

To  stream  through  "  gates  ajar." 

The  time  and  feeling  bring  a  sweet  remembrance 

Of  long  departed  hours, 
That  to  the  present  only  bear  the  semblance 

Of  crushed  and  faded  flowers. 


106  DEW-DROPS. 

But  yet  the  odor  of  the  blossom  Hngers, 

Embalmed  from  all  decay  ; 
And  still  the  heart-strings  touched  by  loving  fingers 

Vibrate  in  song  alway. 

I  see  again,  with  clear,  unshadowed  vision, 

A  form  beloved  of  old, 
Whose  spirit  long  in  fadeless  realms  Elysian 

Hath  walked  the  streets  of  gold. 

This  hour  to  her  was  dearer  than  the  morning. 

And  loveher  than  deep  night, 
With  all  the  beauty  of  its  grave  adorning, 

Its  clear  yet  mellowed  light. 

And  now  I  hold,  as  girlhood's  richest  blessing, 

That  hour  beside  her  chair, 
When  bending  o'er  her,  with  my  touch  caressing 

The  soft  brown  of  her  hair. 

And  listening  words  of  pure  and  tender  meaning. 

As  thought  was  linked  to  thought. 
Till  to  my  heart  the  truths  of  years  of  gleaning. 

In  gathered  sheaves  were  brought. 


DEW-DROPS.  107 

O  !  mother,  mother,  that  the  fruit  is  sparing, 

Is  never  fault  of  thine  ! 
Both  late  and  early  with  a  hand  untiring, 

Thou  sow'dst  seed  divine. 

The  years  are  many  since  the  cold,  dark  river 

Hath  rolled  our  lives  between, 
While  Time  and  change  are  pressing  me  forever 

On  to  the  great  unseen. 

Now  to  my  chair  the  little  ones  come  thronging 

As  to  their  earthly  goal, 
And  in  each  childish  face  I  trace  a  longing 

Of  an  immortal  soul. 

Had  but  thy  mantle  on  thy  daughter  fallen, 

Sweet  spirit  passed  away  ! 
Less  weak  and  helpless  for  the  duties  calling, 

Would  my  heart  stand  to-day. 

Ah  !  well,  the  bread  was  cast  upon  the  waters. 

And  after  many  days, 
May  it  be  found  to  thine  eternal  honor, 

And  to  our  Maker's  praise. 


108  DEW-DROPS. 


ONE    YEAR    AGO 


fN  E  year  ago — and  from  our  household  altar 
A  presence  dear  had  flown  ; 
The  brave,  true  spirit  that  did  never  falter. 
Went  up  unto  God's  throne. 

One  year  ago — and  yet  we  gaze  in  sadness 

Upon  this  vacant  chair  ; 
The  voice  so  cheering,  and  the  smile  of  gladness. 

Still  will  our  memory  bear. 

One  year  ago — how  like  a  sweet  sound  dying 

To  echoes  far  away, 
The  blessed  influence  of  the  life  that's  lying 

All  in  the  past,  to-day, 

Comes  to  us  softly  'mid  the  world's  commotion, 

Its  endless  toil  and  din, 
With  the  bright  record  of  its  pure  devotion 

Alluring  back  from  sin. 

The  cycle  rounded  in  its  varied  beauty. 

As  passed  the  seasons  on  ;  - 
Still  strove  we  feebly  in  the  path  of  duty 

To  walk  tho'  he  had  gone. 


DEW-DROPS.  109 

To  us  It  brought  an  inner  sense  of  sorrow, 

Where'er  our  pathway  lay, 
While  swiftly  dawned  upon  each  coming  morrow' 

The  cares  of  yesterday. 

But  unto  him  what  glorious  revelation 

Burst  on  the  spirit's  sight, 
As  faith  beheld  its  blissful  consummation 

In  the  bright  Land  of  Light  ! 

Oft  when  the  silence  and  the  calm  come  o'er  us, 

I  bend  in  thought  to  hear 
The  swelling  anthem  of  that  mighty  chorus 

His  voice  is  joining  clear. 

At  times,  when  wearied  with  life's  cares,  I  enter 

The  dear  familiar  room, 
Within  whose  precincts  there  can  never  centre 

One  memory  of  gloom  ; 

Beside  the  window  is  the  Bible  lying 

Upon  the  old  low  stand  ; 
I  turn  the  pages,  fraught  with  life  undying, 

With  slow  and  reverent  hand  ; 


110  DEW- BE  OPS. 

And  all  the  while  a  presence  seems  to  hover, 

Bringing  a  restful  calm  ; 
Again  I  hear  the  loved  voice  chanting  over 

A  sweet  and  favorite  Psalm. 

Oh  !  may  the  light  his  life  behind  is  casting 

Fade  nevermore  away, 
But  be  our  beacon  upward,  ever  lasting 

Unto  the  clearer  day. 

And  grant,  O,  Giver  of  our  every  blessing, 

For  kzs  sake  we  may  be 
Yet  made  to  render  unto  Thee  thanksgiving, 

With  voice  of  melody. 


BY    THE    SEA. 

fO  L  E  M  N  and  slow, 
Dashed  to  and  fro, 
With  a  sound  like  a  funeral  dirge, 
The  voice  of  the  sea 
Thus  seemed  to  me, 
As  I  stood  by  its  foaming  surge. 


DEW-DROPS.  Ill 

With  a  low,  sad  moan, 

In  its  undertone, 
That  swelled  to  a  chant  sublime, 

It  flung  on  the  sands 

White  watery  hands. 
Then  died  to  a  murmuring  chime. 

The  full  moon  came 

With  a  silvery  flame, 
That  glimmered  from  crest  to  crest  ; 

As  a  smile  of  light 

Makes  a  grave  face  bright, 
So  it  lit  up  the  ocean's  breast. 

But  the  same  wild  cry 

From  the  breakers  nigh 
Was  borne  on  the  evening  air  ;  -^ 

Though  the  heart  might  thrill 

To  its  beauty,  still, 
The  voice  of  the  sea  was  there. 

From  the  tidal  swell, 
As  it  rose  and  fell. 
Came  ever  these  words  to  me  : 


112  DEW-DROPS. 

"  I  am  rushing  on, 
With  my  ceaseless  song, 
Till  the  end  of  the  world  shall  be. 

' '  There  are  treasures  vast. 

In  my  caverns  cast. 
That  shall  come  to  the  light  no  more 

The  pomp  of  earth 

In  my  stately  mirth, 
I've  hurled  these  billows  o'er. 

' '  And  many  a  life. 
With  bright  hopes  rife, 

Hath  found  in  my  depths  a  grave, 
Its  winding  shroud. 
Its  requiem  loud. 

The  deep  and  the  sounding  wave. 

'*  Like  the  vague  unrest 
Of  thy  troubled  breast, 

My  heavings  and  groans  ne'er  cease. 
But  the  same  '  still  voice' 
That  can  thee  rejoice 

Can  bring  to  my  waters  peace. 


DEW-DROPS.  113 

"  Yet  mortal,,  know, 

Tho'  thy  form  I'd  throw 
Aloft  in  my  lightest  spray, 

Thou  hast  in  thee 

That  which  shall  be 
When  I  shall  have  passed  away. 

"  The  immortal  soul, 

As  the  ages  roll 
The  eternal  spheres  among, 

Will  still  live  on 

When  my  waves  are  gone 
To  chaos  from  whence  they  sprung. 

*  *  Thou  wilt  leave  my  side. 

With  the  ebbing  tide, 
Again  for  thy  inland  home. 

And  forget  not  there,  

That  thou  must  prepare 
For  a  life  that  is  yet  to  come. 

* '  Obedient  still 

To  my  Maker's  will, 
I  shall  toss  and  foam  on  high  ; 

Be  it  thine  io  live, 

So  that  He  may  give 
Those  joys  that  shall  never  die." 


114  DEW-DROPS. 

THE    CRICKET'S    SONG. 

I^ET  again  we  hear  the  cricket,  chirping  blithely  in 
the  wall  ; 

And  I  love  the  sound  to  listen,  when  the  evening  sha- 
dows fall  ; 
When  the  flicker  of  the  firelight  dances  round  the  quiet 

room, 
Drawing  weird  and  sombre  pictures   in  the   deep'ning 

Autumn  gloom. 
Cheerily  the  voice  comes  breaking  on  the  pensive  realm 

of  thought ; 
With   a   host   of  coming   pleasures   is   its  joyous  music 

fraught. 
Years  agone,  when  life's  young  current  like  a  mountain 

streamlet  ran, 
Sparkling  in  the  early  sunlight,  flashing  in  the  grayer 

dawn, 
Naught  in  Nature  made  the  spirit  spread  a  lighter,  freer 

wing, 
Than  the  fresh  reviving  advent  of  each  glad  returning 

Spring. 
Now,  the  stream  has  reached  the  river,  and  flows  onward 

to  the  sea  ; 


DEW-DROPS.  115 

From  its  broader  depths  reflecting  light  and  shade  al- 
ternately ; 
And  the  mild,  still  hours  of  Autumn  wear  a  charm  that's 

greater  far, 
As  the  clear  light  of  Arcturus  dims  the  lesser   Pleiad 

star. 
Golden  rod  and  blooming  aster,  chilly  night  and  frosty 

morn, 
In  the  cricket's  merry  singing,  to  my  mind  this  eve  are 

borne, " 
And  there  wakes  no  note  of  sadness,  tho'  the  crimsoned 

leaf  must  fall, 
And  the  wail  of  desolation  sound  thro'  Nature's  palace 

hall. 
Other  joys  will  spring  in  being — social  flowers  will  bud 

and  bloom  ; 
Threads  of  home  are  closer  woven  in  the  Winter  fireside 

loom, 
That  the  whole  completed  fabric  may  of  richer  strands 

be  wrought, 
With  a  woof  of  pure  affection,  glittering  with  the  gems 

of  thought ; 
And  we  fain  would  see  it  growing  to  a  pure  and  spotless 

white. 


116  DEW-DROPS. 

At  the  touches  of  the  Saviour's  all-transforming  wand  of 

light. 
Oh  !  it  seems  a  fitting  moment,  when  the  blossoms  pass 

away, 
Not  to  mourn  their  faded   beauty,  but  to   closely  scan 

to-day  ; 
Mark,  how  buried  joy  and  gladness  oft  in  other  forms 

arise  ; 
Note  the  star-lit  vault  of  Summer  ne'er  can  equal  Win- 
ter's skies  ; 
String  anew  the  pearls  of  virtue  ;  gather  ripened  seeds  of 

truth, 
To  be  sown   "beside  all  waters,"  in  the  tender  soil  of 

youth  ; 
Craving  help  and  strength  to  keep  us  in  our  places  day 

by  day. 
Every  gift  upon  the  altar  in  humility  to  lay  ; 
Feeling  all  our  human  weakness,    and  our  more  than 

human  need, 
That,  alone  and  all  unaided,  vain  our  every  thought  and 

deed. 
And  the  power  that  overcometh  will  be  given  to  us  all, 
And  a  trust  and  love  that's  deeper,  like  the  dews  of 

blessing  fall ; 


DEW-DROPS.  117 

Even  as  these  days  of  brightness,  when  the  toils  of  Na- 
ture cease, 

Seem  the  season's  benediction,  and  its  hour  of  perfect 
peace. 


BIRTHDAY    LINES    TO    A    FRIEND 

IKE  sunbeams  on  the  wall  of  Time, 
The  years  slip  from  our  grasping  ; 
The  early  dew  of  life  has  gone, 
But  love  is  everlasting. 

Oh,  softly  to  my  thoughts  to-night 

Sweet  memory's  airs  are  blowing  ;  ^^ 

On  thee,  dear  Friend,  the  tender  light 
Of  other  days  is  glowing. 

And  from  the  scenes  once  painted  bright, 

In  colors  clear,  unfading, 
r brush  the  dust  of  years,  and  gaze 

With  eyes  that  tears  are  shading. 


118  DEW-DROPS. 

Ah  !  yes,  the  past  is  all  our  own, 
Its  links  remain  unbroken  ; 

Tho'  many  a  deed  we'd  wish  undone, 
And  many  a  word  unspoken, 

Yet  as  a  whole  the  lives  we  leave 
In  peaceful  rest  behind  us, 

Have  many  a  precious  page  to  show 
That  to  the  present  bind  us. 

Thro'  shifting  scenes  of  care  and  change, 
Our  ways  apart  have  drifted  ; 

Yet,  like  the  steel  the  magnet's  power 
Has  ever  drawn  and  lifted. 

My  spirit  unto  thine  will  cling 
In  near  responsive  feeling, 

Till  from  our  eyes  the  veil  is  drawn, 
Immortal  scenes  revealing. 

Not  to  the  heights  of  wealth  and  power, 
Our  steps  have  e'er  ascended, 

No  trump  of  honor  or  of  fame 
Has  e'er  our  path  attended. 


DEW-DROPS.  119 

Our  lot  has  been  in  quiet  homes, 

Mid  rounds  of  daily  duty, 
And  at  our  feet  earth's  sweetest  flowers 

Have  bloomed  in  joy  and  beauty. 

The  great  things  of  the  world  of  Faith 

To  us  have  ne'er  been  given, 
We  only  trust  that  day  on  day 

May  find  us  nearer  Heaven. 

For  more  and  more  we  feel  that  life 

Is  but  a  shadow,  passing 
Across  the  endless  ages,  stretched 

From  time  to  everlasting. 

The  hands  we  take  and  hold  and  press 
Are  vanishing  forever,  ^^ 

Dear  hearts  that  thou  and  I  have  loved 
Are  passed  ' '  beyond  the  river, ' ' 

And  may  we  follow  in  the  way 

Their  bright  examples  lead  us. 
And  know  like  them  the  manna  still 

At  seasons  fresh  to  feed  us. 


120  DEW-DROPS. 

Thus  faint  and  halting,  poor  and  Wind, 
But  with  best  wishes  teeming, 

I  write  these  birth-day  lines  for  thee, 
With  greater  love  than  seeming. 

The  sweetest  songs  are  those  unsung, 
And  in  my  heart  is  singing 

A  richer  melody  than  word 
Or  pen  to  thee  is  bringing. 

And  when  the  mists  of  time  are  blown 
From  off  the  path  before  us, 

United  may  we  join-  the  song 
Of  God's  eternal  chorus. 


THANKSGIVING. 

fR  O  M  choir  and  from  altar  a  hymn  will  ascend, 
Paeans  of  praise  and  thanksgiving  will  blend — 
The  year  has  been  crowned  with  the  goodness  of  God, 
It  hath  smiled  from  the  skies,  it  hath  bloomed  from  the 
sod  : 


DEW-DROPS.  121 

And  now,  thro'  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  our  land, 
The  rulers  have  issued  their  words  of  command, 
To  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  oblations  to  pour, 
And  lowly  before  Him  to  worship,  adore. 

Oh  !  not  in  our  time,  will,  and  strength  can  we  come  ; 
The  heart  must  be  silent,  the  lips  must  be  dumb, 
Until  touched  with  a  coal  from  His  altar  of  fire, 
Awakening  and  kindling  to  holy  desire. 
All  vainly  the  perfume  in  censer  is  swung, 
All  vainly  hosannas  in  chorus  are  sung, 
If  the  soul  do  not  feel  what  the  voice  may  declare, 
In  humility  breathing  the  publican's  prayer. 

Not  alone  when  the  forest  is  casting  its  leaf, 

When  the  wind-harp  is  wailing  in  sadness  and  grief ; 

Not  alone  when  the  treasures  of  Autumn  are  stored, 

In  their  richness  and  worth  tho'  abundantly  poured  ; 

When  the  light  of  prosperity  beams  on  our  shore, 

Must  we  gratefully  bow  our  Creator  before  : 

All  seasons  alike  our  allegiance  should  prove  ; 

For  the  "  earth  is  the  Lord's  and  the  fulness  thereof.". 

For  the  gifts  that  are  ours  from  a  Father  Divine, — 
For  the  graces  and  loves  that  our  lives  intertwine, 


122  DEW-DROPS. 

For  the  blessings  that  glow  like  a  halo  of  light 
Round  the  gloomiest  path  to  illumine  its  night, 
For  the  mercy  that  reaches  our  wandering  afar, 
For  the  hope  that  will  guide  us  like  Bethlehem's  star, 
Our  hearts  should  be  lifted  responsive  alway, 
And  every  day  be  our  Thanksgiving-day. 


SUNRISE    AND    SUNSET. 

Twelfth  Month,  1883. 

I  T  H  what  new  glory  enters  in  the  day  ! 
What  wondrous  alchemy  hath  mixed  the  tints 
That  flame  in  splendor  up  the  eastern  sky, 
Bright  herald  of  the  dawn?     Night's  ebon  brow 
Wears  now  the  stain  of  an  unwonted  flush, 
Long  ere  the  stars  retire,  whose  pure,  clear  beams 
Send  their  bright  arrows  thro'  the  frosty  air, 
Till  lost  in  the  effulgence  of  the  morn, 
That  from  horizon  to  horizon  spreads, 
And  bathes  the  zenith  in  its  matchless  glow. 


DEW-DROPS.  123 

«< 
And  when  the  day  is  passing  to  its  rest — 

Another  drop  in  that  unfathomed  sea 

Whose  wavelets  break  upon  an  unknown  shore — 

What  perfect  radiance  on  its  passage  waits  ! 

What  changing  brilliance  of  the  hues  that  make 

Our  sunsets  rival  the  Italian  skies  ! 

A  pale,  clear  amber  overspreads  the  blue, 

Then  slowly  deepens  until  all  the  west 

Seems  to  our  gaze  a  wall  of  burning  gold, 

Thro'  which  the  mild  rays  of  the  evening  star 

Shine  like  a  diamond,  and  the  crescent  Moon 

Hangs  as  a  shadow  in  the  gorgeous  sky. 

Awhile  the  dazzling  pageantry  remains, 

Flooding  the  earth  with  beauty,  and  anon 

Becomes  a  crimson  of  the  deepest  dye. 

That  lingers  long  upon  the  world,  and  flings 

Its  blood-red  banner  in  the  face  of  Night.  ~~~ 

Arise,  oh  !  science,  and  expound  us  now 
This  glorious  wonder  of  our  latter  age  ; 
Bring  forth  thy  hints  of  meteoric  dust, 
Or  ashes  still  from  far  volcanoes  blown. 
Tell  us  thy  theories  of  earth  and  sky, 
Argue  from  known  unto  an  unknown  law — 
And  yet  thy  power  all  impotent  remains. 


124  DEW-DROPS. 

And  reason's  light  is' baffled  in  its  search. 
Enough  that  He  who  guides  the  universe, 
Who  pours  the  waters  from  his  hollow  hand, 
And  shapes  the  smallest  destiny  of  man, 
Hath,  in  the  richness  of  his  boundless  love. 
An  added  beauty  given  to  the  world. 


QUESTIONINGS. 

fl  L  E  N  T  L  Y  fell  the  cloudlands 
Apart  from  the  evening  sky, 
Softly  the  breath  of  the  west  wind 
Floated  in  fragrance  by. 

Over  the  distant  hill-tops, 
Flooding  the  valley-land, 

The  beauty  of  sunset  rested, 

A  beauty  complete  and  grand. 

I  stood  with  my  little  daughter, 
Watching  the  day's  decline. 

Till  the  night  made  up  her  jewels. 
In  a  radiant  crown  to  shine. 


DEW-DROPS.  125 

I  saw  on  the  face  of  the  gazer 

A  far-off  look  arise, 
And  a  wistful  wonder  brooded 

In  the  depths  of  her  earnest  eyes. 

"■  Mamma,"  the  child-voice  queried, 
"  Does  Grandpa  see  us  now? 
Can  he  look  from  yonder  heaven 
To  this  world  so  far  below  ? 

'*  Can  he  see  from  the  golden  City, 

Thro'  the  beautiful  gates  of  pearl  ? 
Does  he  know  when  I  am  trying 
To  be  a  good  little  girl  ? 

"  Does  he  know  how  our  baby  brother 
Has  grown  since  he  went  away  ? 
Can  he  hear  what  we  are  saying, 
And  are  doing  every  day  ?" 

Up  to  my  face  the  speaker 

Lifted  her  asking  gaze. 
Trustfully  waiting  the  answer, 

With  eyes  in  a  tearful  haze. 


126  DEW-DROPS. 

Oh  !  artless  questions  of  childhood, 
Baffling  the  learned  and  wise, 

Out  to  the  infinite  reaching, 

Tho'  couched  in  a  simple  guise. 

How  freshly  the  words  awakened 
Notes  from  an  olden  string — 

Not  the  child's  but  the  woman's  queries 
Could  only  an  echo  bring. 

Oh  !  with  what  aching  and  longing, 
What  sorrowful,  yearning  pain, 

My  heart  has  questioned  the  silence. 
Questioned,  alas  !  in  vain. 

The  Hves  so  closely  inwoven 
They  seem  a  part  of  our  own, 

We  feel  that  the  threads  must  mingle. 
Even  when  broken  and  gone. 

It  seemeth  a  breath  or  a  whisper 
Might  move  the  curtain  between. 

That  veils  with  its  quiet  shadow 
The  life  and  the  world  unseen. 


DEW-DROPS.  127 

I  told  my  child  the  lesson, 

Learned  in  that  long  ago, 
To  rest  content  with  the  knowledge 

Our  Father  vvould  have  us  know. 

That  not  unto  us  is  given, 

To  fathom  the  life  beyond  ; 
No  plummet  line  of  mortal 

Can  ever  its  vastness  sound. 

Yet  sweetly  the  thought  will  linger, 

As  moonlight  on  the  soul, 
As  an  unforbidden  fancy 

We  need  not  to  control, 

That  somewhere  near  us  hovereth 

Perchance,  our  loved  and  gone,       ~^ 
With  the  spirit's  viewless  covering. 
And  the  shining  raiment  on. 

So  I  bid  my  daughter  cherish 

The  thought  that  our  sainted  one 
Might  know  when  her  course  was  blameless, 

Or  her  duty  was  left  undone  ; 


128  DEW-DROPS. 

That  striving  with  earnest  effort 
For  the  Christian  graces  here, 

Would  have  been  to  him  when  living 
A  sacrifice  most  dear  ; 

And  to  know  an  overcoming 
Of  our  natures  day  by  day, 

Till  we  find  in  the  great  hereafter, 
The  mists  to  be  rolled  away  ; 

To  walk  as  the  light  is  given, 

In  the  trust  that  is  born  of  faith  ; 

And  then  will  the  beams  of  heaven 
Break  thro'  the  clouds  of  death. 


TO    THE    MEMORY    OF    OUR    BELOVED 
FRIEND    L.    W.    S. 
I^O  D'S  ways  are  not  as  ours  !     His  will 
-5^^      In  cloud  and  darkness  worketh  still : 
And  all  the  powers  of  flesh  and  sense 
Before  his  great  omnipotence 
Fade,  like  the  feeble  starry  ray 
Within  the  sunlight's  open  day. 


DEW-DROPS.  129 

We  little  thought,  dear  friend  of  ours, 
So  soon  amid  the  Autumn  flowers 
To  lay  thy  wasted  form  away  ; 
To  gather  round  thy  lifeless  clay  ; 
And  feel, the  land  which  welcome  gave 
Thus  early  found  for  thee  a  grave. 

To  our  frail  wisdom  it  had  seemed, 
Such  light  around  thy  pathway  gleamed. 
The  world  would  long  thy  presence  need, 
Refreshing  both  by  w^ord  and  deed, 
And  breathing  into  every  part 
The  beauty  of  the  pure  in  heart. 

All  gracious  elements  of  good 

Lived  in  thy  tender  womanhood  ; 

A  nameless  charm,  that  young  and  old 

Drew  to  thee  as  by  threads  of  gold  ;  -— 

An  essence,  which,  distilled  above, 

Drew  forth  our  very  hearts  in  love. 

We  sorrow  that  thy  smile  no  more 
Will  greet  us  at  the  open  door, — 
That  in  the  quiet  house  of  prayer 
We  may  not  in  thy  travail  share, 
Where  we  had  felt  thy  spirit  dwell 
A  shining  light  in  Israel  ; 


130  DEW-DROPS. 

And  for  the  dear  ones  of  thy  home, 
Unto  whose  mourning  souls  has  come 
A  loss  no  time  can  e'er  restore, 
A  shadow  on  each  scene  before  ; 
The  tears  that  earth  may  never  stay 
Their  God  alone  can  wipe  away. 

But  over  all  our  pain  and  loss, 
We  see  thy  crown  ;  thy  fallen  cross  ; 
Forever  safe,  forever  blest — 
Redeemed  and  entered  into  rest, 
Through  faith  in  Him  who  gave  to  thee 
O'er  death  and  grave  the  victory  ; 
And  who  had  been  thy  lifetime  long 
The  morning  praise,  the  evening  song. 


THE    PATHWAY    IN    THE    SKY. 

fH  R  O  U  G  H  the  depths  of  a  southern  forest, 
When  night  fell  dark  around, 
And  the  wood-bird's  cry  re-echoed 
With  weird  and  mournful  sound. 


DEW-D  HOPS.  131 

A  woman  traveller  journeyed, 

With  a  feeling  almost  fear, 
As  the  gloom  grew  deeper,  denser, 

And  the  path  less  marked  and  clear. 

The  wind,  like  a  sorrowful  spirit, 

Moaned  through  the  cypress  boughs  ; 
And  the  still,  black  pools  of  water 

The  reptiles'  plunges  roused. 
The  guide  to  the  ground  alighted, 

To  search  for  the  pathway  lost, 
Where  the  creeping  vines  of  the  tropics 

The  passage  barred  and  crossed. 

But  not  where  his  feet  were  treading 

For  a  sign  or  mark  he  gazed, 
But  up  to  the  southern  heaven, 

His  seeking  glance  was  raised. 
And  the  woman  saw  with  wonder. 

And  she  questioned  him  to  know  . 
Why  he  looked  to  the  sky  above  him 

To  discern  the  way  below. 

Oh  !  'tis  easy  to  see,"  he  answered, 
' '  Where  our  course  on  earth  may  lie, 


132  .      DEW-DROPS. 

If  I  can  but  first  discover 
The  pathway  in  the  sky." 

Thoughtful  his  words  she  pondered, 
As  they  passed  the  forest  through, 

And  a  deeper  meaning  gathered, 
And  a  truer  moral  drew. 

Oft  when  our  way  seems  darkened, 

With  intricate  meshes  crossed, 
Baffled,  perplexed,  bewildered. 

The  trail  with  its  footprints  lost, 
As  we  stand  in  the  gloom  and  ponder 

Wherever  our  course  may  lie. 
Why  seek  we  not  above  us 

For  the  pathway  in  the  sky  ? 

Many  our  hours  of  doubting 

In  the  wilderness  walk  of  life, 
The  smallest  duties  that  meet  us 

Are  oft  with  uncertainties  rife. 
How  the  light  would  stream  in  clearness 

From  the  blessed  Source  on  high. 
Were  our  eyes  but  glancing  upward 

To  the  pathway  in  the  sky. 


I    y»»r         I    \^    I    4^   I 


ivil91882    ^5-3 


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